Empty Crowns
by ChristineX
Summary: The newly crowned Empress of the Imperial remnant is doing everything in her power to pursue her own vision of peace between the Empire and the New Republic. But forces are at work in both governments to make sure she does not achieve her goal....
1. Prologue

Title: Empty Crowns

Characters: L/M, H/L, Pellaeon, Imperial OCs

Timeframe: This story takes place a approximately one standard year after the events of _Champions of the Force_, putting it roughly eight years after the Battle of Endor. It is a sequel to _Dust of Empire_ but can be read on its own.

Genre: Drama, Adventure, Romance

Summary: The newly crowned Empress of the Imperial remnant is doing everything in her power to pursue her own vision of peace between the Empire and the New Republic. But forces are at work in both governments to make sure she does not achieve her goal...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Wars universe, nor the canon characters of the films and novels, but all other characters and worlds depicted in this work are mine. This is an AU version of the Imperial remnant; it's canon up to the point of the Jedi Academy trilogy, but after that it diverges slightly from the world of the profic EU authors in terms of who's in power in the Empire.

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Prologue

Luke Skywalker sat surrounded by darkness and suffused with light. Although the chamber in which he meditated was dark and warm as a mother's womb, he floated in the brightness of the summer day that surrounded the Jedi Temple on Yavin. The damp heat of the jungle moon's air seemed to drape itself against his skin; he could feel the movements in the undergrowth of both predator and prey, locked in their eternal struggle, yet fulfilling their purpose in the Force. The entire world around him surged with life.

His students he could sense as well, the flickering of their presences like shimmers of molten metal in the sun. A group of them -- Kyp, Streen, Kirana Ti, and Kam Solusar -- worked at their lightsaber figures in the courtyard, sleeves rolled up against the heat or, in Kyp's case, tunic abandoned altogether. Fifty meters or so away, he could perceive the calming waves radiating outward from Cilghal's chamber as the Mon Cal healer sought refuge in meditation as well.

But through the placid brightness, which gleamed in the Force like the surface of a still pond reflecting the rays of the sun, Luke suddenly distinguished a surge of agitation. He sensed the mind briefly -- _Tionne_ -- even as she came to a stop outside the door to his chamber.

Her voice, hesitant. "Master Skywalker?"

Not allowing himself a sigh, Luke gradually drew back into himself, then unfolded his legs and stood. He knew that Tionne would not have disturbed him at his meditations without good reason. A brief stretch to bring the blood back to muscles cramped from hours of meditation, and then he went to the door and looked down into his student's odd, opalescent eyes. "What is it?"

"An urgent message from Chief of State Organa Solo," Tionne replied. "I told her you were meditating, but she wanted to speak with you immediately."

"That's fine, Tionne," he said, but a slight edge of worry touched his mind. The past few months had been quiet, a precious span where for once the troubles of the galaxy hadn't touched the Jedi Academy here on Yavin, but even as Luke had enjoyed the unaccustomed tranquility he had known it couldn't last.

"Do you want to take the message in the comm center, or should I patch it through to you here?" Tionne's own image in the Force shimmered with anxiety. Luke wondered what, if anything, Leia had said to her.

"Here," he replied, after a brief pause. Whatever was going on, it was probably better to hear about it in the privacy of his own chamber.

"Of course, Master Skywalker." Tionne gave him a brief nod of respect, then turned and made her way down the hallway in the direction of the comm center. Of course she could have always just patched the message straight through without coming to see him personally, but the singer, immersed in the codes and rules of Jedi glory long past, would have considered that rude. If it was necessary to disturb Master Skywalker at his meditations, then at least one should do him the courtesy of doing it in person.

He palmed the door shut, and brought the lights up to half-level. The chamber around him was sparsely decorated, but the fabric that covered the one large chair soothed in shades of blue and green, and the furniture itself had been constructed of native blond woods in simple, uncluttered shapes. It was easy enough to meditate in a space like this. One could almost overlook the sleek, modern comm station built into the desk at the far side of the room.

But not now. Just as he glanced toward it, the red light came on, and a soft chime sounded. Luke went to the comm, and pulled up a wooden X-backed chair as he did so. Somehow he had the feeling this wouldn't be a brief, "how are things with you?" sort of conversation.

When the holo of Leia's face sharpened as the comm station locked down the signal, he was somewhat worried but not surprised to see his sister's slender brows pulled down in a frown, her mouth taut and grim. Her large dark eyes looked shadowed, as if she hadn't been sleeping well.

Still, it never hurt to start things off on a casual note. "So what's up?" he asked, even though he knew she wasn't about to waste time on preliminaries.

"Did you know about this?" she asked. In one hand she held what looked like a sheet of yellow flimsiplast.

"Know about what?"

"This!" Leia lifted up the flimsy so that Luke could see the words and images printed there. The resolution was poor, but he thought he could make out a flat picture of a dark-haired woman standing next to a blond man who wore the black uniform favored by COMPNOR, that feared branch of the Imperial armed forces. The headline was easy enough to read, however, since it trumpeted in bold type: _Emperor Palpatine II to Marry Shelarne Viraess in Capital!_ Dimly he noted that the newsheet seemed to have originated on Viraess' home world of Lanarsk Prime.

Unexpected, yes, but perhaps not quite the catastrophe Leia seemed to think it was. He wasn't exactly sure how to convince his sister of that fact, however. "We're a little off the beaten path out here, Leia," he said.

"Obviously," she returned, and her scowl deepened. "'Harmless! That's what you told me when you got back from Kessel. 'No future threat' were your exact words, if I recall correctly."

Of course she remembered what he had said, word for word. Leia was too brilliant to have let something that important pass from her memory. "And it was the truth," he said, his tone mild. Of course Leia hadn't been on Kessel, hadn't seen the loss and despair in Admiral Viraess' eyes, the pain that had settled like a mask over her lovely features. Leia hadn't touched the loneliness and fear Luke himself had felt surrounding Viraess in a dark cloud. Whatever the admiral's motives might have first been when she first began chasing after Markus Klem, they had been utterly changed by the time she'd seen the man she once loved die in her arms. He'd read in her mind her disgust for herself and what the Empire had forced her to do and had known that no matter what the future course of her life might be, the New Republic had nothing to fear from her.

Luke considered his words with care before he continued. "Of course I can't speak for Grand Moff Kezler -- or Palpatine the Second, if that's what he's calling himself these days." An empty title, he thought, considering that the current Imperial remnant comprised barely a thousand star systems, when once the Empire had claimed millions. "But I do know that Shelarne Viraess had no malice in her toward the New Republic."

"Really." Leia's voice was neutral, the carefully schooled tones of the diplomat, but Luke could almost feel the tension radiating out from her, even over the light-years that separated Coruscant from Yavin.

"Really," he repeated. "Like I said, we're a little out of the loop here, so I have no idea what led up to this marriage, or why Viraess agreed to it -- if she was even given the choice -- but believe me, claiming that sort of power was the last thing on her mind when she left Kessel."

His sister was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "You're absolutely certain of that."

"As certain as I can be of anything."

Leia still looked far from convinced, but she only replied, "Then I suppose I'll have to trust you on this one."

For the briefest second Luke wondered if he were giving his sister false reassurances, but although he had no way of knowing Viraess' current state of mind, somehow he knew his trust in her was not misplaced.

"You may not believe me now, Leia," he said, "but I really do think that Shelarne Viraess becoming Empress is the best thing that's happened -- for both the Empire and the New Republic -- in a very long while..."


	2. Chapter 1

Thank you for the lovely reviews...and now the big day has arrived!

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Chapter One

Shelarne Viraess stood in front of a thousand watching eyes in the Rainbow Cathedral and wondered how she had come here. Perhaps some time during the past six months she could have stopped this runaway speeder she seemed to have climbed aboard -- perhaps not. She only knew that she had said yes to Grand Moff Kezler's proposal that she become his Empress, and from that moment her life had whirled out of control.

Now she fought to keep from shivering in the chilly air of the cathedral as she waited for the magister to complete the vows that would bind her to Kezler forever. Since they had taken up residence on her home world of Lanarsk Prime, the Grand Moff -- _Emperor_, as she had to keep reminding herself -- thought it best that they be married under its customs, with rites so old that perhaps they predated the first colonization ships that had landed here millennia ago. Over the years the gods the original colonists once worshipped had receded into the background, but still the cathedral and others like it served as the setting for weddings and funerals and other solemn ceremonies.

It would be impossible to heat the lofty spaces of the cathedral to a level Shelarne would find comfortable on a gray autumn day such as this. Most of the spectators had dressed as warmly as fashion would allow, but she, in her crystal-sewn gown of spider silk, was not afforded such comforts. After so many years in uniform she felt almost naked as she stood there with her throat and arms bare, but filmy confections such as the dress she now wore were considered traditional for brides on her home world.

No doubt Arik Kezler didn't feel the cold at all; he faced her now wearing the high-necked black wool COMPNOR uniform he'd always favored, the silver-sewn Imperial starbursts on his shoulder boards gleaming slightly in the cold light. On a bright sunny day the cathedral was a marvel, its interior shimmering with the namesake rainbows cast by millions of panes of beveled glass. But today, with Lanarsk Prime's white sun blotted out by clouds heavy with rain, the interior of the building was as gray as the sky outside.

The magister stepped forward, and Shelarne swallowed, knowing what was to come next. She and Kezler had already said the words; now it only remained for the two of them to seal the vows in the traditional manner.

"The kiss of wisdom," the magister said.

Kezler took one step, and suddenly he stood closer to her than he ever had before. Shelarne fancied she could almost feel the warmth of his body through the thin silk of her gown. He bent, and his lips brushed the skin on her forehead.

"The kiss of harmony," the magister went on.

This time it was her left cheek that Kezler's lips touched, again so lightly she could barely feel them against her skin.

"The kiss of peace."

Kezler turned and placed his lips against her right cheek, then straightened. His blue eyes had taken on some of the cloudy light within the cathedral; as usual, she could not read him at all.

The magister intoned, "The kiss of love."

And then he bent toward her once more, his mouth finding hers. But this was no brush against her skin as the other three kisses had been. No, even as she felt his lips on hers she perceived the heat behind their touch. Shaken, she let him kiss her, sensing for the first time in his embrace the desire she thought she'd seen in his eyes so many months, a desire that had been hidden for so long she wondered whether she must have imagined it. In all the time of their engagement he had never touched her, save a polite hand on her arm when they appeared in public, and he had taken care never to be alone with her. She had begun to think that, whatever his reasons for marrying her, passion was obviously not one of them.

His kiss proved that lie. Heat flooded her cheeks as she watched him finally pull away from her, and then Shelarne came back to herself as she realized the roar in her ears was actually the applause that broke through the watching crowd like the crashing thunder of the sea.

"I give you your Empress!" Kezler said, his rich baritone carrying clearly over the noise of the crowd, and the applause grew until it felt almost like a physical pressure on Shelarne's ears.

At the front of the crowd stood her mother and father, she knew, although now she could not distinguish her parents from the ranks of richly dressed dignitaries that surrounded the pair. Somehow she found it difficult to focus, and they were all a blur, a smeary wash of watercolor impressions that refused to resolve themselves into a single clear image.

Simply as that, she had become Empress of the Imperial remnant -- for whatever it was worth.

Then Shelarne felt Kezler's warm hand wrap around her cold fingers as he led her off the dais, down the aisle that was lined by the red-robed figures of his Imperial guards. From the cathedral they would go to the lavish reception that had been planned at the governor's residence here in Ariston, the capital city of Lanarsk Prime. That palace would be her home for the next few months, until the new Imperial seat that was even now under construction could be completed. In accepting Kezler's proposal, she had not given up her home world; he had decided to base his operations here until such a time when Coruscant was back under Imperial control.

She had not bothered to tell him that she doubted such a day would ever come.

A sleek armored speeder, surrounded by a phalanx of swoop bikes ridden by escort troops, awaited them outside the cathedral. Even here, in the heart of Imperial space, Kezler took no chances.

An Imperial guardsman handed her into the passenger compartment, and she sank down gratefully on the well-padded seat. Someone had thoughtfully adjusted the climate controls to compensate for the cold autumn weather, and a welcome warmth surrounded her as she fastened the safety restraints and watched Kezler enter the vehicle and take the seat opposite her. Just a few seconds later, she felt the speeder begin to move, hurrying them toward their destination.

Shelarne looked across the scant half-meter that separated her from the man who has now her husband. He met her gaze with the blandly pleasant expression she knew far too well. As always, she had no real idea of what he might be thinking.

For herself, she still couldn't quite believe that the deed was done. A little more than six standard months had passed since she returned to Lanarsk Prime, and she wasn't sure which had been more difficult -- coming to the realization that the Imperial Navy was no longer hers to lead, or gradually understanding that the future consort of the Emperor had even less of a life to call her own than did the commander of that same Navy.

She had spent the intervening months back in her old suite at her parents' house, gradually relearning the rhythms of civilian life, readjusting to the patterns of existence planetside, where night and day were still ruled by the rising of the sun, not some arbitrary shipboard clock. Her mother, naturally, had been overjoyed by the news of her daughter's engagement. Even Shelarne's previous position as supreme commander of the Imperial Navy couldn't trump being an actual Empress, after all.

What her father thought was more difficult to tell. A former Navy captain himself, of course he had taken great pride in her position in the Imperial armed forces. But he'd said very little when she announced she was resigning her commission to take her place at the Grand Moff's -- soon to be Emperor's -- side. Occasionally she'd caught her father watching her with troubled eyes, and she knew an unspoken question hung between them.

_Do you love him?_

How could she? She didn't even know him.

At first, as Shelarne tried to reconcile herself to the fact of Markus Klem's death, she'd wanted to hate Kezler. It would have been very easy, especially as she forced herself to endure the difficult task of meeting with Lizhbeta Klem, Markus' mother, and give her a carefully edited version of the events leading up to her son's death. At the time Shelarne could only think, _It's Kezler's fault that Markus is dead_. Even if Commodore Matteson had been the one to pull the trigger, she and Markus would never have been on Kessel together in the first place if it hadn't been for Kezler's command that she track down the man she had once loved and perhaps still did. In the face of Lizhbeta Klem's overwhelming grief, Shelarne could feel the hatred begin to rise within herself, both for Kezler's machinations and for her own weakness in letting herself be manipulated by him.

But she had already agreed to become his Empress, mainly because she had hoped that perhaps in taking her place by Kezler's side she might do some good for the Empire and its people. In those shattering few seconds on Kessel when she had looked in Jedi Master Skywalker's eyes, she had begun to learn something of compassion for one's enemy. With a calm appraisal that seemed to leave no part of her soul untouched, he had given her the first fragile insight into an idea she had never before explored -- that perhaps one day Empire and New Republic might coexist peacefully in this galaxy they shared. There had been too many deaths, too much loss. The dream of peace became strong enough that Shelarne knew she could not give in to her hate. And with that realization came the first slow steps toward healing.

She looked now at Kezler, and wondered if she would ever be able to break through the shell of cool correctness that seemed to surround him. During the time of their engagement he had shown unfailing courtesy toward her, but he had also made sure their schedule was such that they never shared a moment together alone. Once or twice she had made an attempt to reach out to him, feeling that she must at least try to show some regard for the man she had agreed to marry. On each occasion she had been politely but coolly rebuffed.

But even now she could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers from that last ceremonial kiss. Had that been merely for show? Had he simply summoned what he thought was the appropriate amount of passion for such a public display? And what would he do later, when they were at last alone together in the suite at the governor's palace that had been prepared for them?

She finally shivered then, and Kezler's eyes narrowed.

"Are you cold?"

"Perhaps a bit," she admitted. "Delayed reaction. It was cold in the cathedral."

Without replying, he lifted the panel that hid the climate controls for the passenger compartment of the speeder and adjusted one of them slightly. The interior of the vehicle grew warmer, and Shelarne thought that surely it must be uncomfortable for Kezler in his high-necked wool uniform. Still, it spoke favorably of him that he was apparently willing to bear some discomfort in order to see that she didn't take a chill.

Silence grew between them again, and Shelarne turned her head to watch the streets passing by outside. Photo-reactive bunting meant to catch the light of the sun and radiate a rainbow of colors had been hung to celebrate the state wedding, but even its remarkable properties had been defeated by the gray day. And as she watched, the first drops of rain began to fall, giving the _tenna_-marble pavement a febrile sheen.

If she turned and asked Kezler whether he dreaded this reception as much as she did, what would his reaction be? Would he offer her some reassuring words? Would he merely brush the comment aside? Or would he tell her what she already knew -- that to be Empress was to lose oneself in an endless round of council meetings, receptions, and charity events? It was merely a more compressed version of the life Shelarne's mother already led, with its interminable meetings and teas, its countless volunteer hours required to achieve ranking in some arcane system that Shelarne had never been able to decipher but which apparently determined one's status at their level of society. By contrast, life in the Imperial Navy seemed almost an orgy of freedom.

At least she had been given the "polish" necessary to survive in such a world, and possibly that was yet another reason why Kezler had chosen her. It was one thing to decide that a woman should be Empress, and quite another to make sure a candidate was selected who could survive the _vornskr_-pit of Core World society. Long before Shelarne left to take her training at the Naval Academy on Carida she had already received a round of instruction just as rigorous, one that involved learning the intricacies of manner and address and deportment, and of acquiring enough artistic skills to be considered "accomplished" -- all skills which were completely useless at the Academy...save one.

_A lady never loses her head_, Madame Viraess had said over and over again. And it was the ability to maintain her composure, no matter what the Academy -- or the Navy itself, once she had graduated -- might throw at her that probably aided Shelarne the most in her advancement. When she'd been captain of the _Vengeance_, she'd learned the crew's nickname for her was "the Ice Queen." At the time, she'd reflected that it could have been much, much worse.

_And here we both are_, she thought. _Two of the biggest icebergs in the Empire. I wonder what it will take to thaw us out?_

As if sensing some of her thoughts, Kezler tilted his head slightly in her direction and said, "These sorts of things are required, I know, but I would prefer to dispense with them as well."

Shelarne turned from the window. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows you."

_And how is it that you understand me so well, and I know so little of you?_ But she knew better than to voice her thoughts aloud. Certainly he could read all her records whenever he wished, could have looked up every childhood illness and prep-school grade if he desired. She might as well be a universal-access datacard to him, while he -- well, this heir of Palpatine knew the meaning of secrets. It had not escaped her that no family of his had attended the ceremony. Shelarne had no idea whether he had any living relatives or not.

"It has been a long day," she said, and thought of the torturous hours of preparation she had spent that morning, the fussing with cosmetics and hair and jewelry and everything else that went along with presenting a perfect image in public.

To her surprise, he leaned slightly forward and took her right hand in his. His forefinger brushed gently against the new band of blue diamantium gems that glittered there. "A few hours more," he replied.

She lifted her eyes to his. For a second she thought she again saw that flicker of desire move in their depths, and then it disappeared.

The speeder slowed to a halt. Kezler waited until a guardsman came to open the door, and then, still holding her hand, he assisted her out of the vehicle and onto the broad walkway that fronted the governor's palace. A canopy that had been hastily deployed against the inclement weather sheltered the two of them from the increasing rain, even while a squad of stormtroopers stood impervious to the wet as they held back a crowd of onlookers -- a crowd that included a healthy dollop of reporters from various news outlets.

Shelarne immediately pasted a smile on her mouth and raised her hand to the crowds. Kezler wove his arm through hers and led her up the runner of dark blue all-weather carpet, on into the lofty-ceilinged foyer of the governor's palace. From one of the corners darted Jonti Trashidosian, the Balosar stylist who had been hired to ensure her public flawlessness at all times. He twitched at the hem of her dress, produced a micro-spray from somewhere in the many-pocketed belt he wore, and smoothed a hair back into place, then gave her a critical look before dabbing the slightest bit of color on her lower lip with a gloss-saturated brush.

"Perfection!" he exclaimed, as he always did, his head palps swiveled slightly as he surveyed his handiwork.

"Thank you, Jonti," Shelarne said. She had learned over the past six months that it was useless to protest his endless fussing; better to just let him do his work and then keep going.

Even Kezler's lips seemed to twitch a bit, but he maintained his composure as he led her out of the foyer and on to the wide, shallow steps that led into the main reception hall of the palace. He paused on the top stair, then murmured, "He is right, you know."

"Excuse me?"

Kezler bent his head, bringing his mouth closer to her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin as he said, "You _are_ perfection."

To that Shelarne couldn't seem to manage a reply. Head high but with cheeks flaming, she allowed him to take her arm and bring her with him down the steps, as the waiting crowds turned to welcome their new Emperor and Empress.

* * *

The Imperial-class Star Destroyer _Chimaera_ shivered into realspace at the edge of the Lanarsk system's gravity well. Admiral Gilad Pellaeon stood on the bridge, with Captain Ardiff, commander of the _Chimaera_, watching from behind his right shoulder. A fraction of a second later, the shapes of five more Star Destroyers fell into place behind their flagship -- all that was left of Pellaeon's fleet.

Months had passed in more of the rear-guard actions that had occupied his life since the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn. A skirmish here, a raid there -- just the bites of a sand-gnat on a bantha's flank, he knew. At least he could cause the New Republic irritation, if not any actual hurt.

At the time, he hadn't known what else to do.

But then the reports began to trickle in -- a consolidation of power in the Core, the rise of this man named Kezler. This man who called himself the son of the Emperor.

Pellaeon hadn't believed it, of course. It was easy enough to lay claim to a name that conjured vivid memories of an Empire strong and whole. Men needed something to hold on to, to give them the strength to survive defeate after defeat. But the more he read, the more disquieted he became. As far as Pellaeon could tell, repeated genetic tests had proven that Kezler was truly the son of Palpatine. Not only that, but he appeared to be a ruthless and cunning commander, a man who had slowly but surely gathered under his rule the Core and mid-Rim worlds that made up the Imperial remnant.

And now he was calling himself Emperor. True that he held only a tiny fraction of the systems the Empire had once called its own, but that number seemed to be growing, not shrinking. The endless bickering and internecine squabbling of the new Senate appeared to be having its effect. Kezler promised order and stability, and one war-weary system after another had come back into the fold.

After months of gathering data, of holding his flagship and his tiny fleet away in the far borders of the Outer Rim, Pellaeon had decided it was time to throw his lot in with this new Emperor. He would admit the weakness only to himself, but he was tired. Tired of running and hiding. Tired of acting the role of the guerrilla instead of the soldier. From all accounts, Kezler had proved himself a worthy successor to Thrawn. Everything he said and did spoke only of the continuance of the Empire and the ideals of the New Order. Wearied from dealing with the petty self-aggrandizing behavior of the Moffs he had encountered in the past, Pellaeon had been cautious, but finally he came to a decision. Whatever the fate of this re-formed Empire might be, the time had come for Pellaeon and the rest of the men and women in his service to share it.

The main comm on the bridge sounded almost immediately. A young lieutenant turned to Pellaeon and Ardiff. "Ariston Control is hailing us, sir!"

"Put it on the main screen, lieutenant," Ardiff instructed.

Pellaeon turned slightly as the holo-projector in front of the conn activated. The image showed an attractive fair-haired woman in the silver-gray uniform of support services. "Unknown Star Destroyer, please identify."

Captain Ardiff's glance shifted toward Pellaeon, and the Admiral nodded slightly and stepped forward.

"Ariston Ground Control, this is Admiral Pellaeon on board Imperial-class Star Destroyer _Chimaera_. The ships accompanying us are _Ravager_, _Annihilator_, _Dominator_, _Inexorable_, and _Malice_."

The woman's eyes widened slightly as she took in his name and the names of his ships -- no doubt they had been thought lost all this time. But her voice remained cool and professional as she responded, "Acknowledged, _Chimaera_. Please wait for instructions from Navy High Command."

The holo went dark, and Ardiff turned to Pellaeon, one eyebrow cocked at a wry angle. "It doesn't look as if they were expecting us, Admiral."

"How could they?" Pellaeon replied. The _Chimaera_ and its cohorts had been thought lost for years now. He had ordered that their transponder signals be altered, the lettering on the ships' hulls scraped away. They had become a ghost fleet, a shadow in the dark.

"Not quite the _Katana_ fleet, but probably enough to give them a shock nonetheless," he went on, waiting as the seconds ticked by.

The Lanarsk system hosted a large naval command center on the third planet from its sun, and it was from there that Pellaeon expected his reply to come. No doubt the news was already sweeping upward through the chain of command as his ships hung in the outer darkness beyond the system's gravity well.

Barely a standard moment passed, and the holo-projector glowed into life once more. A heavy-browed man wearing commodore's rank insignia stared out at Pellaeon with an odd expression of mixed worry and surprise. "Admiral Pellaeon, I am Commodore Varik of the Lanarsk System Defense Fleet. This is an unexpected pleasure. Word of your arrival has been sent on to the capital. On behalf of the Emperor and the Imperial Navy, I would like to extend greetings to you and the ships under your command."

"Thank you, Commodore Varik," Pellaeon replied. Some of the tension that had gripped his neck and shoulders seemed to ease a bit. It was good to be back in Imperial space, good to be surrounded by the comforting rhythms of standard protocol. "Requesting permission to continue on to Lanarsk Prime."

"Granted, Admiral. Transmitting coordinates now to our space-dock facilities. Admiral Nord will wish to debrief you once he returns from the reception."

"Reception?"

Varik straightened slightly. "You chose an auspicious day for your return, Admiral Pellaeon. Emperor Palpatine's wedding was celebrated some two standard hours ago."

Pellaeon felt rather than saw Ardiff's eyebrows working from somewhere behind him. Obviously this self-styled Palpatine II differed from his father in at least one key area. "Our felicitations," he said dryly, thinking, _The Emperor is about to get a wedding present he certainly didn't expect_. "Proceeding now to space dock according to your instructions."

The bridge crew, considerably sharper than it had been when it first signed on so many years ago, had already taken the coordinates and begun to maneuver the enormous ship so that it pointed directly into the heart of the Lanarsk system. The only indication of movement, however, came from the shifting starfield out the forward viewports.

Commodore Varik nodded. "Welcome back, Admiral Pellaeon."

Pellaeon nodded, and the holo went dark. He straightened, watching as Lanarsk's small white sun grew steadily ahead of them. Somewhere ahead in the dark, still too small to be seen, was the blue-green planet that had been home to civilization since reckoning began. It was a world that had never abandoned the Empire, never fallen prey to the false propaganda of the New Republic.

"Gentlemen," he said, "let's go home."


	3. Chapter 2

How accommodating of ff.n to finally get its act together just as I finished this chapter! Thank you for your reviews -- you're a small but dedicated bunch!

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Chapter Two

Grand Moff Arik Kezler, now styling himself Palpatine II, stood to one side of the reception hall, watching as a seemingly endless parade of dignitaries hastened to deliver their felicitations. The irony that most of them wouldn't have given him the time of day fifteen years ago was not lost on him. Who had he been anyway -- some nameless upstart who had somehow managed to claw his way to a colonel's rank in COMPNOR? Many had been foolish enough to think that his ambitions ended there. But fools he could suffer to live. Usually they posed no threat, and occasionally they could be useful.

A cool flash of gray caught his eye, and he looked across the room to see Shelarne standing there against a carved stone pillar, her crystal-sewn gown sending out errant flickers of light under the subdued glow of the massive luma-equipped chandeliers. She was smiling, and had just lifted her flute of pale rose-colored _chandal_ as if illustrating a point. Moff Orrin, to whom she was speaking, looked dazzled.

As well he should be. She was certainly the most beautiful woman in the room. She might even be, as Jonti Trashidosian had once grandiloquently claimed, the most beautiful woman in a hundred worlds. And now she was his. Not a bad bargain -- to have such an exquisite creature as his wife, especially one who had brought the handsome dowry of the entire Imperial Navy with her.

He remembered clearly the first time he saw her, at that reception on the space station at Ord Trasi. Although those sorts of functions ate up valuable time and manpower, they also offered a chance to show his commanders that he did make himself available to them -- that, unlike his father, he was not the type to live in seclusion and lead in a vacuum. A randomly selected sampling of ship captains had been in attendance, along with the usual complement of fleet admirals, sector Moffs, and planetary governors. And Shelarne Viraess had stood out amongst them like a sleek Nabooan racer-beast in a herd of woolly banthas.

She'd tried so hard to be proper, standing stiff and straight in her severe uniform, the masses of her dark hair pulled back into an uncompromising knot. But her eyes had caught his as he passed, and he still could recall the jolt that had gone through him as he looked at her, at the curves of a body the uniform couldn't completely conceal, at a mouth that seemed to promise all sorts of wickedness, despite the stern expression she appeared to have put on along with the heavy jacket and shining black boots. The connection had only lasted a second, and then she cast down her eyes even as he forged ahead through the crowd. He supposed he could admit to himself now that it was from that moment on he had begun to think how he could make her his. A simple affair had never been his plan, however. Even then he had thought she was destined for much more. She had achieved the rank of captain through hard work and determinations, and her brash but brilliant maneuver at Mahrat had shown she possessed the vision and tactical brilliance the Imperial Navy needed in its fleet admirals. It hadn't been that difficult to influence the decision-making process which led to her achieving her admiralcy soon after, or to let drop the idea that Admiral Viraess would make an excellent addition to the High Command once Admiral Chast had proven his unworthiness...

After that, he had bided his time, waiting for the opportunity to present itself. When the whole Markus Klem situation developed, Kezler knew it gave him the perfect chance to see how committed to the Imperial cause Shelarne Viraess really was. The whole thing had gone sour, unfortunately, depriving the Empire of both Klem and the data for his Corona Project, but it had proven to Kezler that Shelarne would go to any lengths to ensure the continued success of the government she served. Once he had been assured of that fact, Kezler knew she was the only woman suited to assume the title of Empress.

He had never doubted that she would say yes. And once she had, he had cause to thank Moff Naren for his scheming, and Grand Generals Linzer and Nivri for their well-meaning but misguided idealism. Their bumbling had allowed him to sweep the _dejarik_ board clean, and after Shelarne Viraess had gifted him with the Navy there had been nothing to prevent him from ruling the entire Empire as his father had -- without interference, without endless bickering and compromise.

As if sensing his watchful gaze, Shelarne looked over at him and smiled. Kezler felt his own mouth lift in return, but even as he murmured a polite nothing to the planetary governor who bowed before him he looked up to see his adjutant, Captain Lantrin, approaching through the crowd. Frowning, Kezler watched as Lantrin pushed his way past a heavyset governor's wife wearing the sort of stiff formal robes that were now more than twenty years out of date.

Technically, Lantrin was to have remained on duty at Kezler's offices, managing things in his superior's absence. Kezler wondered what was so important that it would bring Lantrin here in person, and his frown deepened.

"Sir!" Lantrin saluted.

Kezler studied the younger man for a moment. He saw nothing in Lantrin's aspect to suggest that anything untoward had happened -- if anything, his adjutant seemed to be edgy with barely suppressed excitement. The young man was capable enough, but he hadn't yet quite learned to school his features to the correct blandness that Kezler expected of his support staff.

"Captain," Kezler replied.

"Sorry to disturb you at your reception, sir, but I've just received extremely important news."

Kezler glanced past Lantrin to the men and women who surrounded him. All loyal Imperial citizens, no doubt, but that didn't preclude caution. "Walk with me," he instructed after a moment, moving toward the large set of doors that opened onto a terrace which ran the entire length of the room.

Even as he turned, a pair of red-robed Imperial guards followed after him, then took up positions at either side of the doors after he gestured for them to remain where they were. They were only his most visible security; mingled in with the guests were an almost equal number of undercover agents, and more were deployed in the gardens that surrounded the governor's palace. He was as safe as technology and human skill could make him, but after spending years on the Super Star Destroyer _Overlord_, moving from place to place to escape Rebel detection, he still could not feel entirely secure while planet-bound.

Some time during the past hour the rain had stopped, but the pale marble terrace was still slick and wet. The air smelled of its dampness, heavy and thick with the scent of decaying leaves and wet earth. Kezler's nostrils flared slightly as he took in the varying aromas, so different from the scrubbed air aboard a Star Destroyer. "Your news?" he asked.

Lantrin seemed to practically radiate excitement. "Sir, we have just received word from the Lanarsk System Defense HQ that a small group of Star Destroyers has just entered the system and is presently en route to space dock."

"Star Destroyers?" Kezler inquired.

"Yes, sir. Six of them --" Lantrin began to grin, apparently thought better of it, then continued -- "under the command of Admiral Pellaeon."

Kezler had had many more years of training his features not to betray him, but even he felt his eyes widen slightly. Pellaeon? The man who had served under Grand Admiral Thrawn? The seasoned commander who was now almost as much a legend in the Imperial Navy as Thrawn himself? "Are you certain of this, captain?"

"Yes, sir. Naval High Command has confirmed that the ships' energy signatures match those of the _Chimaera_, _Ravager_, _Annihilator_, _Dominator_, _Inexorable_, and _Malice_." The young captain straightened perceptibly. Even in the half-darkness outside the reception hall Kezler could see the proud gleam in his eyes. "Sir, he is asking to join his forces with ours."

Lantrin's pride was understandable. Ever since the death of Thrawn, Pellaeon had been quicksilver. Only once had he thrown in his lot with one of the petty warlords who had arisen after the Grand Admiral's demise, and Pellaeon had soon come to realize that was a mistake. He had taken the _Chimaera_ and the small remnant of Thrawn's fleet that remained loyal and disappeared. During the entire span of Kezler's rise to power, however, Pellaeon had been conspicuously absent. Occasionally Kezler had wondered whether the good Admiral had finally met his end somewhere in the vast reaches of the Outer Rim. But obviously he had just been biding his time, waiting for the right time to return to the fold. Why now, Kezler wasn't entirely certain -- but the Empire had been in a recovery mode for some months now, and perhaps Pellaeon had finally decided things had stabilized to the point where he deemed his services could be of use. Whatever his reasoning, his timing couldn't be better. What better way to legitimize the new Emperor and his government than by adding to its ranks one of the former Empire's most loved and respected figures?

"And of course we will accept," Kezler said. "Send word to Admiral Pellaeon that I will meet with him tomorrow at eleven hundred hours."

"Tomorrow, sir?" Lantrin blinked, then stammered, "But you were scheduled -- that is, you and the Empress were supposed to be traveling to the Selides Islands for your wedding trip -- "

"Obviously more important matters have come up," interposed Kezler. "Her Majesty will understand. She is, after all, a former naval commander herself."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Thank you for the news, captain. This is a most welcome gift." Kezler allowed himself a smile at the flustered officer. "Dismissed."

"Sir!" Lantrin saluted, then turned on his heel and slipped back into the crowds that filled the reception hall. Kezler thought he saw the young man turn a wistful eye toward the tables that were laden with delicacies from a dozen worlds, but Lantrin was disciplined enough that he made a direct line for the exit, a pair of stormtroopers falling in behind him. Then he disappeared from view.

Lingering a moment in the chill night air, Kezler paused on the terrace, watching as the clouds overhead broke apart momentarily. They let in a pale golden thread of moonlight before knitting themselves together once more. He thought of Lantrin's news, and what it might mean for the Empire. Pellaeon's support went far beyond the meager six Star Destroyers he could offer to swell the ranks of the fleet. No, his most important contribution would most likely be the psychological boost his presence in Kezler's Empire would provide. And Kezler would have to think of the best way to reward such a valuable contribution.

But it wouldn't do to stay out here any longer. He had guests to entertain, and a new wife to think of. Whether Shelarne would be particularly pleased to learn that their trip had been canceled in such a summary fashion, he didn't know and didn't think was of much concern. These were matters of state, and as such took precedence over frivolities such as wedding excursions that had been largely planned as Holonet opportunities anyway. At least, that was how he planned to explain it to her -- if any explanation beyond the obvious was even required. As he had told Lantrin, the Empress understood her duty as well as anyone. Better, actually.

After all, why else would she have married him?

* * *

"You're certain of this?" Leia pushed the sheet of yellow flimsiplast across her cluttered desk toward Nataan Kardal, current chief of the NRI bureau on Coruscant.

"Our operatives in the Lanarsk System Defense Fleet have confirmed the report. Gilad Pellaeon has returned to the Empire."

Fighting a sour feeling in her stomach, Leia met the Iktotchi intelligence officer's placid golden gaze. Because of their inborn psychic abilities, Iktotchis often made excellent spies -- but it also meant that they were skilled at blocking probes from other Force users. Still shaky in the practices of the Jedi, Leia had never been able to get much of a read from Kardal. For all the calm stillness surrounding the imposing alien, he might have just handed her the menu for tonight's diplomatic banquet instead of yet another indication of the Empire's growing strength.

Apparently taking her protracted silence as an indication to continue, Kardal went on, "His fleet is negligible -- a mere six ships. But his status as an officer far outweighs whatever minor advantage the addition of those ships might mean for the Imperial Navy."

Too well did Leia know that. And in these uncertain times, the addition of a mythic figure to Kezler's Empire was the last thing she needed. Luke had told her that the wedding between the newly crowned Palpatine II and Shelarne Viraess was a matter of no concern -- and possibly a cause for cautious optimism -- but Leia was far from reassured. The uneasy stasis they had enjoyed over the past few months had begun to shift and break apart. Things were changing in the Empire, and Leia had spent too many years embroiled in the workings of power not to know that the members of the New Republic were sure to react.

It was those reactions she feared the most.

Luke could say whatever he liked -- and of course Leia trusted his instincts. He had known Shelarne Viraess, however briefly, while Leia had not. But it was one thing to believe that your Jedi Master brother actually knew what he was talking about, and quite another to convince an always-skeptical, usually bickering Senate of the same thing. Already members whose worlds lay in the uneasy regions near the Empire were casting worried looks over their shoulders. During the past six standard months, the New Republic had lost ten systems to the Empire. And since membership in the New Republic was purely voluntary, there had been nothing Leia nor any of the other members of the Senate could do to keep them from leaving.

Knowing she should say something, Leia asked, "Anything else?" _Is the Empire building another Death Star? Does Kezler have some extra Spaarti cloning cylinders lying around that he thought he might put to use? _Even as those black fancies flitted through her mind, Leia shook her head at herself. That sort of thinking wouldn't do her -- or the New Republic -- any good.

"No, President Organa Solo. Except of course that the Emperor was apparently married several standard hours ago."

_Wonderful_, Leia thought. _I would have sent a present, but I didn't know where they were registered._ "Well, that's done, then," she replied, then added, "Your people are doing good work, Chief Kardal. That can't be an easy assignment, so deep in Imperial space."

He gave an eloquent lift of the shoulders, as if to say, _That is their job_.

"Do get back to me with any further developments," Leia said. _And in the meantime, I'll just have to pray that there aren't any._

"Of course, Councilor." Kardal inclined his head slightly, then turned and left, the heavy fabric of his over-tunic making a soft whispering noise against the closely woven carpet of her office.

Left alone, Leia stared down at the sheet of flimsiplast Kardal had given her for a long moment. Then, in a gesture of sudden frustration, she shoved it down into the disintegrator and watched in bitter silence as it was broken apart into its component atoms.

_If only I could make the real problem go away as easily_, she thought, then sighed and bent her head toward the next order of business on her desk.

* * *

Unlike the parties at her parents' home, which Shelarne recalled had often had stretched into the small hours of the morning, the reception celebrating her nuptials ended promptly at midnight. A long line of speeders and aircars waited along the curb as one by one their guests departed for their homes, their hotel rooms, or their private ships. She and Arik Kezler had given one last formal farewell from the balcony overlooking the reception hall before disappearing into the 'lift that took them to their own suite on the third floor of the governor's palace. The governor himself was among those who had already left; he maintained a secondary residence on Lanarsk Prime's southern continent and had moved there after the Grand Moff had commandeered the gubernatorial residence for his own use.

The suite was enormous and lavishly decorated, furnished with priceless antiques from throughout the sector, as well as pieces of carefully selected art, both static and kinesthetic. Governor Starke had always been known as a connoisseur, and had built up his collection throughout his lengthy tenure as planetary governor. Although its scale was much more grand, the suite's decor reminded Shelarne somewhat of the home in which she had grown up, and at least that was familiar. Among the suite's appointments were several salons and sleeping chambers, as well as offices, libraries, and 'fresher chambers that outnumbered the bedrooms. When her things had been brought here yesterday, Shelarne had noted with some unease that only bedrrom apparently had been prepared for their use.

Off to one side of the bedroom she and Kezler were obviously meant to share was a charming little dressing area, its walls painted in idealized murals of the country outside Ariston. Jonti waited for her there, surging forward to help her with her gown and hair even as Kezler passed on through to the bedroom. Her husband gave her a significant look that clearly meant she was not to linger in the dressing chamber. She nodded, then sat on the delicate little chair in front of the lighted mirror as Jonti began to deftly remove the jeweled pins from her hair.

"A triumph!" he exclaimed. "Not many women could wear this color, but when I saw this fabric -- "

Shelarne wondered tiredly whether it was worth interrupting him. Then she thought of Arik Kezler, waiting in the adjoining room, and said, "Just the hair for now, Jonti."

Cutting himself off midstream, he raised an eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror. Then his gaze shifted to the door that led to the bedroom, and he replied hurriedly, "Of course, your Majesty."

She wondered if she would ever get used to hearing herself referred to as "your Majesty." Probably not, but she wasn't about to let Jonti get away with it here. Besides, they'd already had this discussion more than once. "Just 'Shelarne' when we're in private, Jonti."

He blinked. "Of course, your -- Shelarne." With a quick birdlike movement he plucked the last two pins out of her hair, then passed a brush through it, leaving it lying across her shoulders in a heavy shining mass. Then he said, "Your night things are already laid out."

With a nod, Shelarne rose and went to the closet -- actually another small room that opened off the dressing area -- then drew off the heavy beaded wedding gown and pulled on the night slip and dressing robe Jonti had selected for her. They were both of heavy, lush silk satin in a deep blood color, the robe lined in soft fleecy material. They were also exquisite, simple but perfectly cut. Of course, she had really expected no less. However intrusive and sometimes downright annoying he could be, Jonti had an unerring eye for color and fabric. After all, only a person with the highest level of fashion acumen would ever have been considered for his position in the first place.

Carefully she gathered up the wedding gown, feeling the cool roughness of the crystal beads under her fingertips. Jonti would see that it was treated properly. She went back out into the dressing area and handed it to him, and he took the dress reverently, as if being handed a holy relic.

"That will be all, Jonti," she said. "Thank you for everything."

He gave a deep nod of the head that was almost a bow, then backed away toward the nearest exit, gown still cradled in his arms. The door slid open, and he disappeared through it.

Left alone, Shelarne stood in the dressing area for a long moment, looking at the entrance to the bedroom. Then she took a deep breath, crossed the dressing room to the door, and palmed the entry mechanism.

She had been in this section of the suite only once before, and that had been in the daytime. It was a large chamber, with a sitting area off to one side, and a real functional hearth set into the wall opposite the door. A fire burned there now, casting a warm glow into the room, adding its light to the lumas that shone at quarter-power from the wall sconces. The polished marble floor felt cool beneath her bare feet, until she moved a little farther into the room and suddenly sensed the softness of a woven silk rug against her skin.

A shadow moved against the glow of the fire -- Kezler, still in the severe black uniform he had worn for the ceremony and the reception. Shelarne suddenly realized that she had never seen him in anything else.

A glint of glass and amber in his hand, as he extended his arm toward her. "You look as if you could use a drink."

"That's not necessary -- " she began, but just as she uttered the protest she realized he was probably right. Instead, she moved toward him and took the tumbler. Even from half a meter away she could smell the potent scent of Gyndine brandy.

"I saw you nursing that one glass of _chandal_ all evening," Kezler said. He sounded amused. "Was that a trick they taught you in finishing school?"

More or less. It would be an absolute social disaster to be seen intoxicated in public, and Shelarne's mother had shown her how to take the tiniest sips from her glass yet seem as if she were drinking normally. The ruse usually worked, but Arik Kezler wasn't exactly a common observer. "And I thought I was being so clever," she said ruefully.

"I doubt anyone noticed." He watched her as she raised the glass of brandy to her lips and took a sip -- not as small as the ones she had been forcing all evening, of course, but she had learned to treat the potent Gyndine liquor with respect.

But perhaps it would be better if she were just to get very, very drunk. That way, what was about to come next wouldn't be so difficult. She couldn't count how many times she'd wished she had that luxury with Commodore Matteson -- to blot out sensation, to divorce oneself completely from one's body, to forget. But she also knew that was the coward's way out. Whatever happened, she would go into this with a clear head.

"Shelarne," Kezler said quietly.

She raised her head to look at him. In the golden firelight his blue eyes looked almost green. If only it weren't so difficult to tell what he was thinking. Then she glanced past him to the glass sitting on the carved marble hearth, and realized he had poured himself a drink of his own. Perhaps he wasn't quite as cool and detached as she had thought.

"What's that old saying?" he went on. "'Close your eyes, and think of the Empire'?"

For a second she stared at him, uncomprehending, and then the meaning of what he had just said sank in. Arranged marriages weren't much in vogue any more, but those no-nonsense words delivered by some stout mother to a recalcitrant daughter still lingered, more as the punch line to a joke than anything else. She allowed herself a smile. "Something like that."

"Ah." He reached for the glass sitting on the hearth and then paused, fingers just brushing the rim. "Did you ever wonder why I waited this long?"

At first she wasn't sure what he was asking. The six-month delay between the time when she had agreed to his proposal and the actual date of the wedding had had a medical reason, after all. Just as every other woman in the Imperial Navy, Shelarne had had contraceptive implants to ensure that there would be no "complications" during her tour of duty. Fraternization of course was frowned upon, but biology often couldn't be denied -- hence the forced contraception. But since Kezler had made no secret of his desire for offspring, of course the implants had to be removed. The doctors generally recommended a six-month latency period before any attempts at conception were made. Otherwise, she had gotten the impression that their marriage would have taken place much sooner.

"Waited?" she repeated.

Finally he gathered the glass into his hand, lifted it to his mouth, and drank. A thin smile touched his lips. "You know I was born a bastard."

His directness startled her. Of course, that was common knowledge -- Emperor Palpatine had never acknowledged his son. But she had never thought to hear it directly from Kezler's lips.

Not knowing what else to do, Shelarne nodded.

"It's not something I would wish for another -- especially my own children. I didn't want there to be one whisper of suspicion -- one cause for doubt." A frown creased his forehead for a second and was gone.

With those words she thought she began to understand. The distance, the cool politeness. The way he had held her at arm's length the past six months. All merely his way of making sure they held off until after the marriage had been witnessed by the notables of a hundred systems. Whatever happened next, no one could possibly say any child of theirs was illegitimate.

"Arik, I -- " It was the first time she had ever called him by his given name.

But he gave her no time to say anything else. He set his glass back down on the mantel and then drew her swiftly to him, burying her mouth under his, hands moving through her unbound hair. He tasted of brandy, and she could feel the hard edges of his rank bars pressing against her flesh through the thin silk of her garments as he brought his body close to hers.

All along Shelarne had feared that being with him would be like being with Commodore Matteson. After all, what other basis of comparison did she have? But while the sudden flare of passion had taken her by surprise, she sensed one thing right away. Clearly he wanted her, but she felt nothing of Matteson's desire to humiliate her, to exploit her body and prove his control.

So much easier then, to return the kiss, to open her mouth to his, to let him fumble with the ties on her dressing gown, and then feel his hands upon her. With the barest presence of mind she managed to set her own glass upon the mantel before she dropped it altogether, and then she reached out to struggle with his belt and the ludicrous number of fasteners on his uniform jacket. For a second she wanted to laugh at the difficulty of removing his uniform when she had climbed in and out of the very same jacket and breeches combination every day of her life for the past twelve years, but somehow it was much harder to work with when it was on someone else's body. Then finally the jacket was gone, and the high-necked white shirt underneath. His torso was lean and well-muscled, but she didn't have time for anything more than a quick glance before he gathered her up once again and carried her to the bed.

Then there was nothing but him, a universe of sensations she had never experienced before and never thought she would. She clung to him in the dark, shuddering, until the world finally collapsed in on itself and spun into blackness...


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The opening of the door to the 'fresher finally awoke Shelarne. For a moment she lay there, staring up at the blank white ceiling, which last night had held a holo-projection of a starry night sky. She wasn't quite sure of the protocol here -- this was the first time she had ever shared a bed for an entire evening with a man. Back at the Academy, when she had been summoned to Commodore Matteson's quarters she had been sent away the same evening, to slip off in the darkness immediately afterward that so no one would discover what she and the Commodore had been up to. Even now she had the feeling she had just done something shameful, although of course that was ridiculous -- it was perfectly natural for a husband and wife to have spent a night together as she and Arik Kezler had.

She sat up, clutching the sheet against her torso for modesty, and saw her husband step back into the bedchamber. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, but she noticed immediately that he had already donned his black COMPNOR uniform.

"Did I oversleep?" she asked. The itinerary for their wedding journey didn't have them setting out from Ariston until almost noon, and normally she would never have stayed in bed so late. Heat flooded her cheeks as she suddenly recalled that she hadn't gotten much actual sleep.

"Change of plans," he replied, pulling at one sleeve to make sure it hid the long-sleeved undershirt he wore beneath the uniform jacket. "Lantrin came to the reception last night -- "

"I wondered what he was doing there," she said.

Kezler paused, one eyebrow lifting. Obviously he was not used to being interrupted in such a fashion.

"Your pardon," Shelarne murmured automatically, then wished she had bitten her tongue. He was no longer her superior officer; wives had privileges of interruption that subordinates did not. Still, it was too late to take back the apology.

"He brought news he wished to deliver in person," Kezler went on. "It appears that Admiral Pellaeon has returned to us, along with the remainder of his fleet."

Eyes widening, she absorbed that piece of information. No wonder Captain Lantrin had come to the reception himself instead of simply sending a communiqué. What this might mean for the Empire --

"Exactly," her husband said, as if somehow deciphering her thoughts. But probably her expression had been easy enough to read. "The importance of this development cannot be overstated. But of course this matter takes precedence over our trip, so I have postponed it indefinitely."

_Just like that_, Shelarne thought. _No discussion, no chance to explore options_. "And when were you planning on telling me this?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied, and a corner of his mouth lifted. The cool blue eyes had a sardonic gleam. "Would you have preferred between the first and second time, or the second and third?"

The blood rushed to her face once more at that comment, but she looked at him squarely. "Whenever you thought appropriate, Arik."

The look of amusement didn't fade precisely, but the glance he gave her was considering, as though he were trying to decide whether there was some other subtext in the demureness of her reply. "The meeting is scheduled for eleven hundred." The slightest of hesitations, and then he said, "I would like it very much if you would join me."

"I would think of doing nothing else." Shelarne glanced at the chrono that sat on the bedside table. Only a little more than two hours. She would have thought that plenty of time in the old days, when all she had to worry about was whether her heavy hair would behave itself that day and stay neatly in its bun for once. Jonti, however, would most likely have an apoplexy when she informed him that she needed to be ready for such an important meeting in so short an amount of time.

The comm unit sat on a low table across the room, and her nightgown and dressing robe lay in a puddled heap on the floor in front of the fireplace. There was certainly a handheld link somewhere else in the room, but a swift glance of both hers and Arik's bedside tables revealed nothing.

"Looking for this?" her husband asked, then lifted the comlink off the mantel piece. He came to stand next to the bed, then extended his arm, the 'link lying in his open palm.

"Thank you," she replied. She appreciated the courtesy but couldn't suppress the thought that another man might have made her retrieve it herself, just so he could get a glimpse of her naked form. The passionate lover of the evening before seemed to have barricaded himself behind the same mask of cool politeness he always wore. But if that was the tone he wanted to take with her, so be it. What had she been expecting, after all? That she would awake to find him showering her with flower petals, or bringing her breakfast in bed? She might as well expect the planet to stop turning on its axis. Keeping her own tone carefully neutral, she asked, "Might I inquire as to your plans for Admiral Pellaeon?"

"I intend to offer him command of the Imperial Navy."

At that remark she paused, staring at Kezler in shock. The comlink lay forgotten in her hand. "But what about Admiral Dane? You just appointed him six standard months ago."

"What of it? Admiral Pellaeon is now the ranking officer in the Navy, both in seniority and experience. Naturally the supreme leadership role should be given to him, regardless of how long Admiral Dane has been in command."

Troubled, Shelarne looked down at the rumpled parchment-colored sheets that covered her. When she resigned her own commission, the Grand Moff had consulted with her regarding who should be her replacement as commander of the Imperial Navy. The choice had not been an easy one. She happened to like and respect Admiral Corvallis, commander of the shipyards at Ord Trasi, very much. But she could not deny the fact that ships had been stolen from the 'yards under his command, and although he had received only a mild reprimand in light of the fact that it had been an inside job perpetrated by her old nemesis Commodore Matteson, still the thefts had been a black mark on Corvallis' record. He would not have made a suitable candidate, and instead the command of the Navy had gone to Admiral Dane.

Shelarne admitted to herself that she did not much care for Dane, although her dislike had no real concrete basis. Certainly her personal misgivings about the man -- her gut reaction, as it were -- did not constitute a reason to deny him a leadership role. He had joined the Imperial Navy soon after its inception, and he had served well and faithfully for almost thirty years. If there was something about him that set her teeth like metal filings being dragged across a marker board, so be it. She had always prided herself on her instincts about people, but an instinctual dislike would certainly not have swayed Arik Kezler on the matter. So she had held her tongue, and agreed that Admiral Dane was the most qualified officer to fill the position.

_More qualified than I was_, she thought. _At least, in terms of actual fleet experience. My appointment always grated on him -- I could see it in his eyes every time we were in a room together. But at least he was always professional._

All she could do was hope that he would be equally professional when confronted with the news that the command he had desired for so many years was to be taken away from him so soon. Shelarne wondered which was worse -- to never be given the one thing you wanted so badly, or to have it snatched away after only possessing it for a little while.

But she could tell from the set of Arik's jaw that he had already made up his mind on the matter. Some battles were worth fighting, and some weren't. She had to acknowledge that for the morale of the Empire in general it made much more sense for Pellaeon to take command of the Navy. His was a name that inspired men, whereas Admiral Dane, although competent, had never been generally well-known outside the Navy and the higher levels of Imperial government. Really, when you looked at it that way, the plan made complete sense.

Still, she couldn't help thinking, even as she picked up the comlink to summon Jonti to her dressing room, that perhaps this wasn't such a wise decision after all...

_

* * *

_

_Two hours!_ Jonti wanted to tear his hair out in frustration, but he knew that even running his hands through the carefully arranged spiky locks would upset hours of preparation. Instead, he settled for clicking his tongue against his teeth in disapproval as he quickly loaded all the tools of his trade into the synth-hide bag he carried for his work: palettes of cosmetics and styling tools, along with enough lotions, sprays, and hairpins and clips to open his own shop. Then he all but ran to the repulsorlift that would bring him to her Majesty's suite.

He couldn't stop thinking of his employer that way, even though she continued to gently reprimand him every time he called her by her title instead of her given name. She always treated him with the utmost courtesy, even though she had not, he recalled, been exactly warm to the idea of having a stylist at first. Frankly, Jonti couldn't understand why any woman wouldn't want a professional around at all times to ensure that she looked her best no matter what, but so be it. Perhaps in the Navy such sloppiness was condoned, but for an Empress to be running around with hair she'd styled herself and lip tint that didn't coordinate with her clothing -- well, perish the thought. Luckily, the Grand Moff -- _the Emperor_, Jonti reminded himself, no nonsense about given names with _that_ formidable individual -- had overruled the Empress in that particular matter.

It had been the luckiest break of his career, no doubt about it. Jonti had managed to get himself away from Balosar at the tender age of sixteen by latching onto a spice lord's trophy wife and performing such tricks with her hair that she had announced she couldn't possibly leave the planet without Jonti in tow. He'd remained with Brigetta for a few years until she got caught in the crossfire between her husband and a rival smuggler, thus leaving the hapless Balosar without an employer. But at least he'd saved enough money to get off-planet and had headed on to Corellia, where his portfolio had impressed the brass at the local Holonet syndicate so much that he was offered a position as a stylist for one of their news outlets. From there he was able to branch out into hosting his own makeover show, where he transformed countless frumpy Corellian housewives and poorly dressed university students into walking fashion holos. He was thrilled. He had found his niche.

But when the call came from one of Grand Moff Kezler's aides that the ruler of the Imperial remnant sought assistance with his beautiful but not terribly stylish betrothed, Jonti had only hesitated for a moment. True, he had success on Corellia beyond his wildest dreams. But this sort of appointment was an order of magnitude beyond his current position as a Holonet host -- as was the salary the Imperial government offered him. Occupying such a position meant that he would be able to dictate fashion instead of merely following it.

Corellia was not his home world, and he could leave it without regret. Although the thought of living in Imperial space troubled him somewhat, once he had set up residence on Lanarsk Prime and had seen for himself all the gracious living such a long-settled Core world could offer -- Imperial or not -- he realized he had nothing to worry about. Not even supposed Imperial prejudice against non-humans proved to be an issue. Perhaps it was the fact that a Balosar differed in appearance from a human only in his species' head palps. Or perhaps it was the fact that Jonti held such a high position in the Imperial household. Whatever the case, he hadn't suffered on Lanarsk Prime because of his alien status. Far from it.

And the Empress had turned out to be a dream employer. After so many years of wearing only Imperial naval uniforms, she had little knowledge of fashion and was willing to defer to Jonti in most style decisions. Also, for a woman as outstandingly beautiful as she was, she had little of the arrogance usually associated with such beauty. It was as if she had looked into a mirror her entire adult life only to make sure her hair was tidy or her rank bars pinned on straight and had no real idea of how extraordinary her looks really were.

This made her the perfect blank canvas, and Jonti had decided that she would be his greatest creation. For if he could turn pasty-faced astrogation students and dumpy women who didn't know a pleat from a placket into fashion successes, what could he do with such amazing raw material?

A considerable amount, it turned out, and only once or twice had she questioned his choices. She did have an unfortunate tendency to err on the conservative side. Although Jonti thought that a brilliant fuchsia would have been an outstanding choice for the governor's banquet, given the Empress' dark hair and fair skin, he had deferred to her concern that such a hue might be a little shocking for such a sober assembly and had dressed her instead in deep midnight blue for the event. The effect had been stunning of course, but he still wished she had been a little more willing to take a risk.

Then again, when she had to answer to someone as intimidating as this Palpatine II, then perhaps her propensity toward soberness in dress wasn't completely incomprehensible. The Emperor was all politeness, but his smile never touched his eyes -- except, perhaps, when he looked at Shelarne. The former Grand Moff would have made excellent material for a makeover as well, even though Jonti knew he didn't quite have the courage to broach the subject. Mentioning to the Emperor that the ubiquitous black uniform washed out his fair hair and that perhaps he should try something lighter would definitely be met at best with a chilly reception. No, better to keep his mouth shut and concentrate on the Empress' continued perfection.

The 'lift stopped at the third floor, and Jonti hastened down the corridor toward the Empress' suite. Before yesterday she had still resided at her parents' home here in Ariston, but of course those living arrangements had changed immediately after the wedding. Jonti himself had been given a very comfortable apartment on the second floor of the palace, so that he could be ready to assist at a moment's notice.

As he made his way toward the Imperial suite, Jonti saw the door open and the Emperor himself step out. Immediately the two royal guards who had been guarding the entrance to the suite moved to flank him.

Jonti ground to a halt and inclined his head. "Your Majesty."

"Jonti," said the Emperor, giving him the briefest of nods. "She's waiting for you." The cold blue gaze flickered to the large synth-hide case the stylist carried. "Be quick."

"Yes, your Majesty. Of course, your Majesty," gasped Jonti, who, even after six months of working with the Empress, couldn't quite seem to maintain his composure around the Emperor.

Not bothering to make a reply, the former Grand Moff sailed down the corridor toward the repulsorlift, a slim figure in black outlined by the flowing blood-colored robes of his guards. Jonti wondered how a man could be so cool, so calm and pleasant, and yet somehow so terrifying.

_Poor Empress_, he thought; he had developed quite an affection for his new mistress over the past few months. _How in the galaxy can she bring herself to -- to --_ Words failed him. Although Jonti had never been much interested in women -- or men, for that matter, since personal relationships seemed more messy to him than anything else -- he certainly knew well enough what must have transpired last night. He knew he would never have had the courage to do what the Empress must have done.

But when he entered the suite and found her in her dressing chamber, she looked remarkably calm. Her hair was still damp from the 'fresher, and Jonti bustled forward, already digging for the molecular hair dryer in his case.

"Good morning, Jonti," she said. "Caf?" And she pointed to the gleaming dispenser that sat on a table against the opposite wall from the lighted mirror.

"In a bit, your -- Shelarne." Damn. One day he would get that straight.

One corner of her mouth quirked, but she said nothing.

Feeling flushed, Jonti lifted her thick, dark hair away from her neck to finish the drying process. As he did so, he noticed several livid reddish marks against the white flesh of her throat. _Oh, dear. _

Her calm gray eyes met his in the mirror. "Perhaps something high-necked today, Jonti," she remarked casually, but he thought he saw the lift of her full mouth threatening to turn into an outright smile.

"Of -- of course. I do have something to, well, cover that."

"Good," was all she said, but Jonti got the feeling she was fighting the urge to laugh.

Well, then. Obviously she had survived the night, and possibly even enjoyed it. Perhaps her lot as Empress wouldn't be as bad as he had feared.

He rummaged in his case for the palette of flesh-colored cosmetics he needed, fetched a brush, then set to work on her throat, wondering as he did so whether this camouflage was to become a normal part of her beauty regime. Judging by the small smile that continued to play about her mouth, he feared the worst.

* * *

The Z-95 Headhunter slipped down through Yavin IV's mist-laden atmosphere, trailing clouds of water vapor from its wings. Luke Skywalker lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright, diffuse light of the sun, looking for any identifying markings on the craft that might yield a clue as to its origins. He saw none. Not completely surprising -- Z-95s were used by everyone from smugglers to thrill-seeking kids who found the obsolete little starfighters to be the perfect basis for their hot-rodding experiments.

Once the canopy cracked open, however, Luke had no further need of identifying marks. No one else in the galaxy had that same shade of blazing red-gold hair.

"Hi, Mara," he said. "Just passing through?"

Mara Jade swung her long legs over the side of the cockpit and dropped lightly to the ground, then gave him a sour look. "Hyperdrive motivator's giving me grief," she replied. "I thought I'd better pull out before the thing dropped me in the center of a sun or something similarly exciting. Yavin IV just happened to be the closest place for me to land."

As always, Luke found Mara difficult to read, but there was no mistaking the waves of irritation that seemed to shimmer around her like heat distortions off a Tatooine sand dune. "Sorry to hear that," he said, hoping he sounded casual. Truthfully, when he had first seen her flaming hair appear above the cockpit, he had hoped that perhaps she'd reconsidered her decision not to seek training at the Jedi Academy. Her choice had continued to bother him. Untrained Force users were a menace to themselves and everyone around them, and although Mara had insisted she had her Force abilities well enough under control, still Luke had thought she protested a little too loudly. But he'd also known that he could never compel her to attend the Academy -- that was a choice she'd have to make on her own. "We're sort of short on replacement hyperdrive motivators," he added.

"Why am I not surprised?" Her shoulders lifted under the supple leather jacket she wore. "But at least you've got a 'Net relay here, right?"

"Of course."

A quick emerald-green glance in his direction. "Don't suppose you've got an old YT freighter lying around?"

Luke gave a chuckle. "Just my X-wing...single-pilot configuration."

"I should have known. You live simply here, don't you?"

He smiled. "We try."

She shook her head but remained silent as she followed Luke into the ancient Massassi temple. Much of the equipment the Rebel Alliance had left behind when it evacuated the base after the destruction of the Death Star was now obsolete, but Luke had requested that as much as possible be salvaged and repaired instead of replaced. He wanted the Jedi Academy to be as light a burden on the resources of the New Republic as possible. Still, Leia had insisted that the comm stations be upgraded, and Luke had acquiesced. They were so isolated here on Yavin IV that having a reliable connection to the 'Net was imperative.

Mara looked around with interest as they passed through corridors constructed from huge blocks of native gray stone. "Ironic, don't you think?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you may be calling this the 'Jedi Academy,' but you're actually based in a temple. Why not just call it the 'Jedi Temple' and be done with it?"

_Good question_, Luke thought. But they were making a new start here, and the tragedies of decades ago would doubtless be brought to mind if the nascent Jedi Order he had started to build began calling its base the "Jedi Temple." After a pause he replied, "I think 'Academy' might be a little less emotionally charged."

She seemed to consider that, then nodded. "Maybe you're right."

They entered the comm center, a mid-sized hexagonal room with several banks of relays and voice stations. The students at the Academy served rotating duty monitoring the incoming messages, although sometimes days would pass without anything of note coming through. Still, if nothing else, comm duty taught the fledgling Jedi the value of patience and observation.

Today Kirana Ti sat at the main console, looking bored. However, she sat up straight in her seat and tried to arrange a look of interested concentration on her features when she saw Luke and Mara enter the room.

He smothered a smile. "Morning, Kirana. Mara here is having some trouble with her ship. We need to see when we can get some help out here."

"Mind if I drive?" Mara asked, and Kirana shook her head, then stood and vacated her post at the comm station, the lizard-skin leathers she wore creaking slightly.

Watching the two of them, Luke wondered how many men would have liked to trade places with him so that they could share the room with a couple of stunning redheads. The women did make a striking pair, although somehow he found his gaze continually drawn to Mara.

She seemed oblivious to his attention, her fingers racing across the controls with practiced speed. "I'm seeing if I can get in contact with one of Talon Karrde's operatives on Obroa-Kai. Then he can patch me through to the _Wild Karrde_."

Luke opened his mouth to offer the assistance of the New Republic but was forestalled by the sudden shimmer of a holo projection above the console. He didn't recognize the alien's species -- the holo showed a slender green-skinned humanoid with flattened features and deep-set red eyes -- but Karrde's operation did seem to attract its members from every sector in the galaxy.

When the alien spoke, it was with a strange whistling sibilance that gave his pronunciation of Basic an odd intonation. "_M-ah-ara Jh-ade_," he said. "_Yhou honor mhee_."

"The honor is mine," she replied. Then, convention apparently satisfied, she went on, "Glad I could catch you, Sshi-lher. My ship's decided to have a temper tantrum, and I need to contact Karrde for a pickup. Can you forward me to the _Wild Karrde_?"

"_Y-hour requesst I mhay ful-fhill_," Sshi-lher responded. "_Ss-tand b-hy_."

The holo faded into darkness as Mara waited, tapping her fingers on the console.

Kirana murmured to Luke, "Mind if I duck outside for a minute? I think Kyp and Streen were about to start on their 'saber figures again."

Technically, Kirana was required to stay in the comm center until the mid-afternoon, but she, Dathomiran born and bred, chafed against the forced inactivity of that duty more than the other students. But Luke supposed it wouldn't hurt if she went out for a few minutes while he and Mara wrapped up their business here.

"Half an hour," he replied, and was rewarded with a quick flashing smile. Then she ducked out the entrance and disappeared.

Luke turned to see a new holo forming above the console, this time of Talon Karrde's familiar features.

"Hello, Mara," Karrde said, and his gaze flickered past his lieutenant to rest on Luke. "Master Skywalker."

"Hello, Karrde," Luke replied.

Then the smuggler chief returned his attention to Mara. "Sshi-lher said you were having some difficulty."

"Hyperdrive motivator," Mara said. "Yavin happened to be the most convenient safe haven. But all Luke has on hand is a single-seat X-wing, so he can't give me a lift out of here."

"Unfortunate." Karrde frowned slightly. "Our resources are spread a little thin right now, Mara. It may be a week or so before I can send someone to pick you up."

"A week?" Mara asked. Another one of those flickers of irritation seemed to shimmer around her, a sharp-edged sensation that felt like sandpaper running over one's skin.

"Maybe a little more. I'll have to see what I can do." A slight smile touched one corner of Karrde's mouth as he looked past her to Luke once more. "Perhaps you should look on this as an opportunity to hone some of your skills."

"My skills are just fine, thank you!" Mara snapped. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the two of you plotted this somehow."

Wisely, Karrde remained silent. Luke managed to keep from smiling. The last thing he needed at this point was to provoke Mara any further.

"Well, all right, then," she said at last, her tone grudging. "If that's the best you can manage."

"It just depends on who's available in that sector," Karrde replied, completely unruffled. "I'll be in contact as soon as I have more information."

"Thanks. I'll be waiting." With that comment Mara killed the transmission and swiveled in her seat so that she faced Luke. "And if I know him, I'll be waiting...and waiting...and waiting. He's been after me to come here for months."

"I'm sure he'll do everything he can to send someone to help you out," Luke said. "I could always contact Coruscant -- "

Mara cut him off. "Don't bother. Who am I to go against the will of the Force -- or Talon Karrde?"

Once again Luke was forced to keep from smiling. It looked as if Mara was willing to go along with the situation for now, even if she might not be very gracious in her defeat. And now that she was here, he planned to do everything in his power to make sure she got some training, whether she liked it or not.

After all, you never knew when those sorts of things might come in handy...


	5. Chapter 4

Well, sorry it took so long to update this -- I'd been sucked into a mixture of real life, writer's block, and obsession with my silly LOTR fic. ;-)

* * *

Chapter Four

The conference room was not what Admiral Pellaeon had expected. Instead of the standard Imperial-issue dark metal furniture and gray walls, it sported a long table of some gleaming pale wood surrounded by matching chairs upholstered in soft grayish-green fabric. Exotic blood-colored lilies bloomed from carved stone planters in each corner. The far wall was composed entirely of transparisteel windows that let in a breathtaking view of downtown Ariston and its elegant buildings, most of which seemed to have been built of a native white stone or its artificial analogues. Ribbons of aircars streamed past, all carefully monitored by the capital city's traffic-control systems, no doubt. Thick white clouds drifted against a pale blue sky.

The entire setting spoke of a long-established civilization, serene and untroubled by the vicissitudes of galactic conflict and governments in flux. But appearances, Pellaeon knew, often could be deceiving.

He hadn't stood on a planet and felt natural gravity in more than two standard years, and even he had to admit to himself a certain thrill as his shuttle left the _Chimaera_ and brought him to a private landing pad conveniently located on the roof of the governor's palace. That same sense of low-level anticipation was running through the ranks on board his ship -- Pellaeon had authorized rotating shore leaves for the crew, and some of the more junior personnel had been barely able to conceal their excitement. Even as he'd made his way to the main repulsorlift bank to board the shuttle, he'd heard one female lieutenant murmur to another as they passed him in the corridor, "Someone told me they have real clubs. With _dancing_!" The second crew member's eyes had widened, and he'd barely been able to repress a smile. Without a doubt, the tapcafes in Ariston were going to be doing a brisk business over the next few days.

His time would not be spent so frivolously, he knew. After this meeting with the Emperor, Pellaeon needed to make arrangements for repairs and retrofits on all of his ships. The _Chimaera_'s technicians and those on board the other Star Destroyers had done their best to make sure all the ships in their small fleet kept in good running order, but hasty patches and makeshifts when the correct replacement parts hadn't been available were certainly no substitute for some quality time spent in an Imperial Navy spacedock facility. And after that? He had no real idea what this Palpatine II had planned for him. Perhaps Pellaeon would have no real say in where and how his ships were deployed. From what he could tell, it was often impossible to guess what this man who used to be known as Grand Moff Kezler would do next. His unpredictability had obviously been one of his keys to success.

The door slid open with a quiet whisper of well-tuned repulsors, and a tall fair-haired man in the black uniform of COMPNOR stepped inside, closely followed by a woman in a dark civilian suit whose severe lines seemed to mimic the design of an Imperial Navy jacket. Pellaeon stood, immediately recognizing the features of the Emperor from the Holonet transmissions he had seen. The striking woman next to him must be the new Empress, former commander of the Imperial Navy. Her presence was surprising, but not completely unexpected; although she no longer ran the Navy, no doubt she had a keen interest in its future.

A salute would have been inappropriate; instead, Pellaeon bowed from the waist and said, "Your Majesty."

The Emperor inclined his head slightly. "Admiral. On behalf of the Empire, I welcome you to Lanarsk Prime."

"It's good to be here, your Majesty," Pellaeon responded.

"Please be seated," said the Emperor, and Pellaeon resumed his seat, watching carefully as this Palpatine II pulled out a chair for his wife before taking his own place at the head of the table. She murmured a "thank you" before turning her attention toward the admiral.

"I hope you don't mind my sitting in on this meeting, Admiral Pellaeon," she said, her clear gray eyes meeting his squarely. "But I must confess that I was very eager to see you. It's not every day that one meets a legend."

"Hardly that, your Majesty," Pellaeon replied, although he couldn't help feeling flattered. But perhaps that had been her intention -- to disarm him with charming words before her husband made his true motives known. True, she had been a naval commander, not a politician, but no one -- especially a woman -- could have achieved her rank without understanding the subtleties of social and political interactions.

"You will find that the Empress is not one for hyperbole, Admiral," the Emperor said smoothly. "Do not underestimate the reputation you've earned. After all, it is that reputation -- and your outstanding service record -- which brings us here."

Pellaeon gave a nod of acknowledgment, but he remained silent, waiting to hear what would come next. From the time he had received the summons to meet with the Emperor, the admiral had known this conference would involve much more than a simple "welcome back to the Empire" speech.

The former Grand Moff smiled slightly. Looking at him and the woman who sat at his side, Pellaeon thought the Empire couldn't have found a more hologenic couple for its leaders if it had tried. Of course he had never met the original Palpatine, but rumors had continually swirled through the Imperial ranks about his apparent physical deformities. This man, who had once gone by his maternal last name of Kezler, must resemble the woman whose name he had borne for so many years.

"You return to us during a period of expansion and prosperity, Admiral," the Emperor went on. "The ideals of the New Order are once again being embraced by the more enlightened systems, those who understand that a government must offer stability and security, order and peace. The weaknesses of that mongrel Senate which rules the New Republic are being increasingly exposed, and I am certain that more and more sectors will return to Imperial rule in the near future."

The speech was couched in standard Imperial propagandist terms, naturally, but Pellaeon couldn't dispute what the Emperor had just said. After all, the current upswing in the fortunes of the Empire had been the deciding factor in the admiral's decision to return to Imperial space. He did not consider his decision to be opportunistic, but rather realistic. Up until now, the remnants of the Empire hadn't offered the sort of stability Pellaeon felt his crews deserved.

"This does appear to be a cause for some optimism," Pellaeon said cautiously, as it seemed that the Emperor expected some sort of reply.

"Precisely. As does your fortuitous return. You may not realize it, but your status as former second-in-command to Grand Admiral Thrawn has granted you a certain degree of celebrity."

_Undeserved celebrity_, Pellaeon thought, but he did not bother to argue. Even though he had often considered himself merely a spectator to Thrawn's greatness, from the outside no doubt it must appear that he possessed at least a portion of his former commanding officer's uncanny strategic genius.

The Emperor folded his hands on the gleaming tabletop and leaned forward slightly. His pale eyes seemed to gleam with fanatical fervor. "What better way to enhance the Empire's growing strength and importance than by appointing its most celebrated officer to command of the Imperial Navy?"

At this stage of his career, Pellaeon hadn't thought he could be shocked by anything. However, the Emperor's pronouncement was certainly the last thing he had expected. He had hoped that he would be able to maintain control of his ships, and that perhaps he would be assigned to a system defense fleet or command of one of the Empire's remaining precious shipyards. But to be given command of the entire Navy?

Clearing his throat slightly, Pellaeon replied, "This is a most -- unexpected -- honor, your Majesty." He knew that there was no way he could decline the request, but he felt duty bound to at least voice his concerns. "However, seeing as I am newly returned to the Empire and as yet unfamiliar with the current state of affairs of the Imperial Navy -- "

"Your misgivings are laudable but not necessary, Admiral," the Emperor interposed smoothly. "All Imperial officers understand that the continuing success of the Empire is paramount, and that individual ambitions must necessarily be subordinated to that success. Admiral Dane, the current commander of the Navy, understands that as well as anyone else. Besides, you are his senior when it comes to years of experience. No one will think it strange that you will be replacing him as supreme commander of the Imperial Navy."

Privately, Pellaeon had his own doubts on that score -- anyone who had survived the vicissitudes of the Empire's floundering fortunes since the debacle at Endor was not likely to enjoy relinquishing his command -- but of course he did not bother to mention that fact. The Emperor knew this Admiral Dane, and Pellaeon did not. Perhaps the gentleman in question truly did possess the necessary forbearance in order to coolly analyze the situation. So Pellaeon nodded, saying only, "That does sound logical, your Majesty."

"Very good." For a brief second the Emperor allowed himself to look pleased, but then the mask of bland politeness slipped over his features once more. "Her Majesty will be able to debrief you on the current state of the Navy and anything else you might require." One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Under the circumstances, I feel it best that she should help you with the transition rather than Admiral Dane himself. Although she herself has not commanded the Navy for some six standard months, she has kept herself well apprised of its status."

Pellaeon glanced from the Emperor to the woman who sat next to him. If she was at all startled by the Emperor's decision to have her be the one who would guide Pellaeon in adapting to his new post, she certainly didn't show it. All business, she gave the admiral a direct look, then said, "Admiral Dane maintained offices both here in Ariston and on Spacedock Facility Alpha-Five. For convenience's sake, I would suggest that you take over his offices here first so that our schedules may be coordinated more easily."

"As you wish, your Majesty," he answered, already mentally going over the steps necessary to transfer his personal effects to Lanarsk Prime's capital. It would be odd to move his base of operations planet-side; he'd always commented that he had no plans to end up flying a desk, the fate of most fleet admirals. Considering the unsettled state of the Empire during the past eight years, he'd never thought that would be an option, even after he'd earned the rank of Admiral. Well, one didn't survive as long as he had without being adaptable.

"Excellent," said the Emperor. "I'll leave it to you two to work out the details." He stood, and Pellaeon immediately rose as well. The Emperor extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation Pellaeon took it. He wasn't sure of the protocol in such situations, but he knew that -- as with most everything -- it was best to follow his ruler's lead. The other man's grip was firm and emphatic. "Welcome back, Admiral Pellaeon."

"Thank you, your Majesty."

The first true warmth Pellaeon had seen in the Emperor seemed to surface briefly as the man looked down at his wife before saying, "Take good care of him, Shelarne." Then he straightened, gave a brief nod to Pellaeon, and exited the room, leaving the admiral and the Empress alone.

She smiled at Pellaeon. "Please sit down, Admiral. We have much to discuss..."

* * *

The morning mists had long since burned away. A damp heat had risen in their place, causing whichever biological cooling systems the various Jedi apprentices had been born with to work overtime to combat the uncomfortable conditions. Luke had learned to ignore the weather conditions on Yavin IV; physical annoyances such as high humidity were no longer distractions for him.

Other distractions -- well, some of those were proving more difficult to deal with than he had previously thought.

Mara Jade and Kirana Ti circled one another on the smooth gravel of the practice courtyard, lightsabers glowing blue and purple, shimmering in the moist afternoon heat. Strands of reddish-brown hair plastered to Kirana's forehead were the only outward sign of her discomfort, since her Dathomiran lizard-hide riding leathers seemed to trap the rest of her perspiration, but Mara didn't seem to be faring as well. She was clad in a pair of many-pocketed utility pants and a sleeveless knitted shirt that clung damply to her trim form, and more than once Luke had to force himself to refocus on the patterns the lightsabers made as the two women sparred, rather than the way that close-fitting top seemed to meld itself to her torso.

_What would Obi-Wan say?_ he thought, with a rueful mental grin. Then again, Ben had had it easy. There weren't a heck of a lot of distractions of the Mara Jade sort in the Jundland Wastes.

"Remember, the Force is your guide, not a tool," he said, as the two women backed away from each other once more. Their jerky movements showed they were being too careful; instead of letting the Force direct them to the next opening, they were thinking too much, trying to second-guess their opponent. "Feel the Force flowing through you," he added, thinking even as the familiar words left his mouth how much better they had sounded in Obi-Wan's rounded Coruscanti tones instead of his own slightly flattened Outer Rim accent.

"That's easy for you to say," Mara snapped. She reached up with an irritated hand to wipe away the sweat on her forehead. "Considering that you're just sitting there watching the show. Should I fetch you a drink with a parasol in it to complete the party?"

Luke had to clench his jaw slightly to trap the smile that threatened to make its way to the surface following Mara's question. The former Emperor's Hand occupied a peculiar place in the hierarchy of the new Jedi Order he was forming here on Yavin -- neither student nor teacher, apprentice nor master. Some of the other students -- mainly Kyp and Kirana -- looked on her as merely a dilettante, someone who was only interested in picking up enough skills to be useful but who lacked the discipline to truly become a Jedi Knight. Since Luke knew much more of her personal history than the others, he realized that wasn't exactly the case, but still it was proving difficult to train someone who so obviously wanted to be someplace else.

Four days had passed since Mara found herself stranded here, and already Luke found himself marveling at the inventive excuses Talon Karrde had come up with to avoid sending someone to retrieve her. It didn't help that Mara accepted Karrde's explanations as barely disguised rationalizations for making sure she stayed on Yavin long enough to acquire the training he obviously thought she required.

"I wish he'd just come out and tell me that he has no intention of letting me off this slag heap until you give me a passing grade," she'd fumed just the evening before, as they sat on a pair of rocks still warm from the sun's rays and watched the huge crescent of Yavin proper rise above the horizon.

"Since when has Talon Karrde ever 'just come out' and told anyone anything?" Luke inquired. He himself had felt pleasantly relaxed after a day of supervising lightsaber training, followed by a swim in the lake that surrounded what had once been Exar Kun's stronghold. With that dark spirit gone, the placid body of water had become a favorite of the trainees after the day's exertions.

"You have a point," Mara said. She brought her knees up to her chest and gazed moodily out into the fast-gathering dusk. Her hair had still been damp from swimming, lying in exotic tangles across her shoulders like the red seaweed of Mon Calamari. "I just don't see why this has to take so long. Why can't I just pick up what I need quickly and then move on?"

"Anything valuable takes time, Mara," he'd replied. "The easy path is also the path to the dark side."

"Come up with a few more like that, and you can get a job flipping cards at a soother stand in the Coruscant underlevels," she shot back. "Any tall, dark, mysterious strangers in my future?"

_I hope not_, Luke thought, but he'd just smiled and shook his head. If any of his students had been listening he was sure they would be appalled by Mara's irreverent comments, but he found them oddly appealing. Her barbed tongue brought to mind some of the more caustic interchanges between Han and Leia.

Then Mara had sighed, resting her chin on her updrawn knees. Her expression turned uncharacteristically melancholy, and she seemed to stare off into the thick darkness without really seeing. Then again, there wasn't that much _to_ see, after all. A few lumas glowed at the periphery of the clearing that held the Massassi temple, and the heavy vegetation moved with a cool breeze that had sprung up after nightfall. The undergrowth was thick with life, different but just as active as the presences Luke sensed during the daylight hours. Still, nothing out there posed any threat that he could feel.

The stillness between them had grown awkward, and after a few moments of silence he had murmured something about going to bed and had wished her a good evening. She'd only given him a brief nod before returning her attention to the dense tropical night, and he'd escaped to his own sparse but comfortable quarters, wondering if he'd ever be able to feel completely relaxed around her. No doubt those who thought of him as the high, exalted Jedi Master would be appalled to learn that when dealing with an attractive member of the opposite sex he hadn't progressed too far from the awkward farm boy who used to loiter around Fixer's shop.

Looking at Mara now, as she stood in the midday heat and regarded her opponent with wary respect, Luke thought he understood the source of some of her hesitation. The Emperor's conditioning had run deep, and, though she would never admit it out loud, Mara feared that opening herself too deeply to the Force might lead to reactivating memories best left dead or, worse yet, bring forth another deeply buried trigger like the one that had compelled her to try and kill Luke. The contact he had had with her lately seemed to indicate that she was now free of such taints, but even he couldn't be absolutely certain. The Emperor had possessed subtleties of evil that Luke by his very nature had a difficult time comprehending. He couldn't lie to Mara and tell her there was no risk, even though he felt fairly certain that the chance of that type of buried trigger still existing somewhere in her psyche was quite low.

Unfortunately, there was a galaxy of difference between "little chance" and "no chance," and Mara knew that better than anyone.

Still, as Yoda had told him over and over, the focus should always be on the here and now, and not on cloudy possible futures that might never come to pass. He moved closer to the two women and said, "Allowing the Force to guide your movements will bring you naturally to the next opening in the combat sequence. If you think about every step, then you're not allowing your reflexes to be just that -- reflexes. And it's your reflexes -- and the Force that guides them -- which can save your life."

Kirana nodded, scowling fiercely as she appeared to take in Luke's instructions. Mara lifted one eyebrow, but Luke could sense the rapidly whirling thoughts behind the cool, sardonic look she gave him. Her doubt seemed to swirl around her like a thundercloud.

He wondered then if she would ever relax enough to surrender to the Force. Could she ever come to trust herself and her innate abilities, or would she let her fears rule her future? Luke knew that any change in her current attitude would have to come from within; all he could do was show her how much the Force could be her ally.

When he spoke, however, he made sure that none of his own doubts or worries surfaced in his tone. "Let's try again -- back to neutral stances, please."

The women moved into the classic Jedi pose, weight back on the dominant foot, lightsabers held at the ready. Whatever the outcome, Luke wanted to make sure that all his apprentices had the best foundation he could give them. He only wished that so much knowledge of Jedi ways hadn't been lost, that he didn't feel half the time as if he were groping blindly, wondering whether his teachings would in fact lead them down the true path or instead into darkness.

* * *

The New Republic Security Council met once every ten standard days, and Leia was now exactly ten standard minutes late to their current meeting. Normally she made every effort she could to be as punctual as possible, but the alarming report that NRI Chief Kardal had brought her only a few minutes before the scheduled start of the meeting had prevented her from leaving on time. Troubled, she stared out the transparisteel window of her aircar as it shuttled her from her offices near Monument Park to the Security Council headquarters, which were located in an annex attached to the huge Senate complex. The midday sun glinted off the thousands of other 'cars that shared her immediate airspace, all of them traveling in paths carefully managed by the local sector's traffic-control system. Leia watched her fellow travelers flash by and envied them their blissful ignorance. At times like these she often found herself wishing that she'd had the courage to leave her office and return to the happy anonymity of private life.

But that choice lay far behind her now, and whatever happened, she knew she couldn't turn her back on the government that looked to her for guidance. Sometimes at night, as she lay awake in the darkness and listened to Han's regular breathing next to her in bed, she would wonder how she had ever come to this. Surely there were older and wiser minds in the New Republic who would have been more suited to assume the role of Chief of State. But Mon Mothma had asked it of her, and the acclaim of the Senate had only supported that request. So Leia had assumed the mantle of responsibility, never dreaming that it would weigh more heavily with each passing day.

The 'car dropped her off at the private, heavily guarded platform that was attached to the Security Council's headquarters. Leia moved swiftly through the elegant corridors, her soft gray robes fluttering behind her as she approached the double doors that led into the main Council chamber. Two blue-uniformed New Republic guards stepped aside to let her enter, one of them activating the doors at the same time. They slid quietly open, and she stepped inside.

The Security Council counted twelve in number, its members carefully selected from the ranks of the larger Senate. Its membership was supposed to change every eighteen standard months so that a larger variety of worlds could participate, but Leia noticed that Bothawui was always represented, along with other important Core worlds such as Chandrila and Corellia. The current Security Council had only been chosen the previous month, and Leia still didn't have all of its newest representatives memorized. She recognized Karlsst Moy'las, the Bothan senator, as well as Sheldra Cranthor, the junior Chandrilan senator and a good friend of Mon Mothma. But the rest had yet to resolve themselves into distinct individuals.

"My pardon, gentlebeings," she said immediately, as she made her way to her own chair at the far end of the long oval table around which the Council sat. "Certain information came to light at the last minute, information which I felt should be brought before this Council."

"Are you referring to the appointment of Admiral Pellaeon to command of the Imperial Navy?" inquired a tall man a few seats down from her, even as the other members of the Council stirred and looked at him with various degrees of shock or curiosity.

Leia stifled a flare of irritation. The saying went that secrets ran faster through the hallways of the Senate building than subspace relays could transmit Holonet images, but she hadn't thought this particular piece of information could have surfaced that quickly. But she managed to maintain a tranquil expression as she replied, "Exactly that, Senator -- " And she trailed off, realizing that she couldn't recall his name.

"Sedaris," he finished for her. "Lem Sedaris, of Fondor."

"Of course," she said, "Thank you, Senator Sedaris." Belatedly Leia remembered that he was new to the Senate as well as the Security Council, but beyond that she didn't know much of him, save that his family owned extensive interests in the shipyards and weapons factories of his home world. He had taken much of the impact from her announcement, but she knew she had to forge ahead. "The Senator's information is correct. I have received confirmation through NRI sources that Palpatine II has indeed given command of the Imperial Navy over to Admiral Gilad Pellaeon. I'm sure no one here needs reminding of Admiral Pellaeon's previous service with Grand Admiral Thrawn, or that he is a figure much respected in the Empire."

A Neimoidian senator Leia didn't know leaned forward, his large reddish eyes widening slightly. Although the Neimoidian race had suffered an enormous decline in its fortunes following the Clone Wars, slowly the bridge world of Cato Neimoidia had begun to claw its way back to respectability, and Leia supposed the appointment of one of its own to the Security Council hadn't hurt, either. "Do you think this is a prelude to further aggression by the Empire?"

"Let us not jump to conclusions," said Sheldra Cranthor, her voice as smooth and elegant as her person. "We have seen no increase in hostile activity by Imperial forces. Indeed, engagements between their forces and ours have been on the decline for the past few standard months."

"Which means absolutely nothing," cut in Senator Sedaris. He was as striking in his own way as the Chandrilan senator; somewhere in late middle age, he possessed a full head of white hair that contrasted well with his heavy dark brows and deep-set black eyes. Moreover, he had the sort of presence that immediately drew one's attention. Leia could see why he had been named Senator for his home world. "The quiet we now experience could only be the calm before the storm."

"There is no indication -- " began Senator Cranthor.

Leia held up a hand. "I appreciate all your concerns, but I must say that Senator Cranthor is correct. None of NRI's reports seem to indicate a buildup of Imperial hostilities."

Karlsst Moy'las, the Bothan representative, scowled. The fur on his snout bristled as he said, "And what of the loss of valuable systems to the Empire? This is a drain on our resources that will not stand."

_I knew it would get around to this_, Leia thought. _I just hoped it wouldn't happen so quickly_. But, as usual, the Bothans had gone straight to the unpleasant heart of the situation. "While I agree that it is -- unsettling -- to think that anyone would prefer Imperial rule, the simple fact of the matter is that membership in the New Republic is strictly voluntary. I hardly think that the loss of ten or so systems is enough to cause concern -- "

"And what about Danoshar?" interrupted Moy'las. "My informants tell me that Danoshar is seriously considering going over to the Empire as well."

That piece of unwelcome news had come from nowhere. Leia frowned, trying to recall whether Kardal had given her any intelligence on Danoshar's loyalty and coming up with nothing. If that world -- a chief source for the key alloy used in the manufacture of durasteel -- were to switch alliances to the Empire, the political and economic consequences could be far-reaching. "I have no information on that subject," she said, choosing her words with care, "and therefore feel I should not comment until I have all the facts."

Moy'las made a disgusted noise, but said nothing. At the far end of the table, the Bith representative leaned forward, steepling his long spindly fingers over the shining tabletop. From behind him a gleaming silvery protocol droid stepped up to the table, translating the fluting Bith language into Basic. "Senator Fath wishes to state that it is pointless to argue over that which has not yet come to be. The Senator feels strongly that increased vigilance is necessary, but no other action should be taken at this time."

_Out of the mouths of protocol droids_, Leia thought. The Bith senator's words were the most rational she'd heard all day. She could only hope that enough of the other representatives on the Security Council held the same sentiment to make a difference.

Senator Cranthor was nodding her well-coiffed head. "Well put, Senator Fath. Idle speculation over an unproved rumor does none of us any good."

Nods of assent and murmured agreement greeted her words from around the table, although Leia noticed that Senator Sedaris remained silent, eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the reactions of the other representatives. Luckily, the Bothan Moy'las limited his reaction to a harrumphing growl made under his breath, a reaction which Leia felt was safe to ignore. The Neimoidian senator still looked troubled -- or perhaps that was his usual expression -- but since he said nothing, Leia felt it was safe to steer the meeting into less troubled waters. As soon as she returned to her offices she would contact Chief Kardal to see if there was any merit to the rumor about Danoshar, but in the meantime the Security Council had other less contentious matters to attend to.

Taking a relieved breath, she said, "Very well, then. Next order of business?"

And off they went into a discussion as to whether the military buildup on the Expansion Region world of Aridus warranted intervention. Leia listened to the debate with only half her attention. The rest of her mind worried at the problem of the ever-expanding Empire and its implications for the New Republic.

For if Danoshar went, how long would it be before a host of other worlds followed?


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Emperor strode into the main room of his personal suite and then stopped, looking around him in some amazement. For the first time since their wedding he and Shelarne had an open evening in their own chambers, their schedule for once not occupied with a state banquet, reception, dinner party, or some other engagement that could not be avoided. Although he probably would not have admitted it even to himself, Kezler had been looking forward to spending some time alone with his wife. From the moment he left their private quarters in the morning until he returned late in the evening, a thousand and one different details clamored for his attention, and ever since he had assigned Shelarne the task of working with Admiral Pellaeon he had seen very little of her, save for the evening hours when they attended social functions together. He had gotten the impression that she would have liked more time together with him as well, although she handled the unceasing duties and impacted schedule with her usual aplomb.

But now -- his gaze traveled around the room, noting the luxuriant arrangements of exotic blooms that had to have been brought in from the southern hemisphere, as the chill of late autumn already gripped the latitude where Ariston lay. Artfully placed lumas cast a soft indirect glow from beneath some of the floral arrangements, and the air seemed thick with the scent of lilies.

Shelarne stepped forward from where she had been waiting by the table in the dining area, her dark hair lying loose across her bare shoulders. The pale gown she wore seemed to be suspended by nothing by air, until Kezler noticed the telltale gleam of metal against her bare skin and realized the fabric was held up by a series of gossamer-thin chains. The silky material drifted against her flesh, somehow revealing and concealing at the same time. He thought he caught a glimpse of bare leg up to the thigh as she moved toward him, and suddenly the collar of his uniform jacket felt too tight as he took in a quick breath.

"We had to cancel our trip to the Selides Islands," she said. "So I thought I'd try to bring a bit of them here."

"You have many talents, I see." Kezler managed to tear his eyes away from her long enough to notice that the table had been set with the finest tableware Governor Starke's collection could yield. A course of the delicate sweetmeats and pastries that preceded the main formal meal on Lanarsk Prime sent forth their own toothsome aroma, an interesting counterpart to the heavy fragrance of the _astarias_ and flame-lilies that filled the room.

Her tip-tilted gray eyes seemed to laugh at him, and the corners of her mouth curved slightly upward. "Well, I have to admit that Jonti helped me. For someone who's not even from this planet, he has a most definite knack for finding the best florists." She turned toward the table, then bent slightly and poured a glass of soft red wine and held it out to him.

What he really wanted was to set the glass aside and take her into the sleeping chamber -- but there would be time for that later. If only he could simply enjoy this evening, enjoy being with her for a while. But the matter that had delayed him at his offices almost a standard hour past the time he wished to depart could not be ignored.

He took the wine and gave it a cursory sip. Of course it was excellent. He had expected no less. Shelarne was watching him, obviously expecting a comment, so he said, "It's very good."

"What's wrong, Arik?" Her expression never changed, but he could see the slight alteration in her posture as she studied him.

It still pleased him to hear his name on her lips; sometimes he wondered how difficult it had been for her to force herself to that familiarity...among others. "Nothing is wrong. In fact, something could be very right -- if we handle the situation correctly."

Instantly she shed the semi-seductive pose. She straightened, the correct military posture in sharp contrast to her provocative gown and loosened hair. "Tell me."

In answer he pulled out a chair for her and she sat, while he followed suit. He noticed that she had poured a glass of wine for herself but apparently hadn't yet touched it. "Have you heard of a world called Danoshar?"

She shook her head. A lock of heavy dark hair slipped down over her shoulder and trailed into the shadowy hollow between her breasts, and Kezler felt again a stab of desire for her.

Damn it -- who would have ever thought he'd be so distracted by his own wife? Forcing his eyes back up to hers, he replied, "There's no reason that you should have. It's a mining world in the Mid Rim. Their chief export is duranium, the critical alloy in the production of durasteel. They've just expressed interest in joining the Empire."

Shelarne made no reply, but she nodded. Of course he did not have to explain to her just how important it would be to the Imperial cause to gain control over that sort of commodity.

"I just spoke at length with one of their representatives. They are willing to open negotiations -- as long as they can deal directly with you."

Her eyes widened slightly. "With me?"

"Yes," he replied. "Apparently Danosharan society is highly matriarchal. They feel it would be a show of respect toward their government if the Empire sent its Empress to handle the talks."

"Arik, I'm no diplomat -- "

_That isn't exactly true_, he thought. She had no formal political training, no schooling in the formal rhetoric used in those sorts of negotiations, but over the past few days he had watched her skillfully handle warring governor's wives, contentious planetary council members, and members of Lanarsk Prime's high society whose feuds went so far back no one could recall exactly what had caused them in the first place. And in a situation like this, where the Danosharans were already half in hand, Shelarne's mere presence on their world would probably be far more effective than any carefully constructed diplomatic speeches.

"Even better," he said, interrupting her protests. "Since they know you aren't a career politican, they're far more likely to trust you."

At that comment she lifted an eyebrow, took a sip from her wine glass, and remarked, "Careful, Arik. A few more statements like that and someone's liable to think you're getting jaded."

He couldn't help but smile at her words. Certainly it couldn't hurt, alone here with his wife, to show that he was capable of amusement. "Possibly," he replied. "But it is the truth, and you know it. Know also that if Danoshar enters the Empire the political benefits may very well outstrip whatever economic gains we might achieve from having control over the planet's duranium. It's the most populated and affluent planet in its sector, and if it comes over to us, there's a very good chance that the rest of the sector will follow."

His words struck home, he could tell. Shelarne remained silent for a long moment, her expertly manicured fingers tapping slightly against the stem of the wine glass as she thought it through. Watching her, he knew that he would not have to waste any further persuasion on convincing her of the importance of this mission. She would do what she had always done -- whatever was necessary for the success of the Empire. Some small part of him wished that he didn't have to send her away so soon after their wedding, but he knew that was foolishness. This was only the start of many years together, after all, and the interests of the Empire had to come first.

"When do I leave?" she asked quietly.

"Tomorrow morning," he answered. "Most of the necessary arrangements have already been made -- ships, security, and so forth -- but of course you should let your personal staff know of your departure. I assume you will take Jonti and Lady Noresh with you." Indra Noresh was Shelarne's personal secretary, a formidable product of Lanarsk Prime's upper echelons whose family's fading fortunes had required her to seek employment in the Imperial household. But not for one moment did she forget that she could trace her bloodlines back to the First Landing -- and she made sure no one else around her forgot, either. Kezler often wondered who the scrawny little Balosar stylist was more afraid of -- Indra Noresh or himself, the Emperor -- and had decided that most days it was probably Indra, simply because Jonti had had so many more run-ins with her.

"Naturally," Shelarne said, and Kezler thought he caught a wicked twinkle in her eyes. On such a trip, Jonti was indispensable, and Indra Noresh probably was not, but the Empress certainly knew that if she left Lady Noresh behind she would never hear the end of it. Then she sobered, and gave him a sidelong look, a glance that sent a sudden flicker of heat through his veins. "If I'm leaving tomorrow," she went on, "then I suppose we should make the most of tonight."

He needed no further encouragement. Her passion had surprised him at first -- after her treatment by Commodore Matteson, Kezler had wondered whether she would be all that eager to engage in physical relations. But their wedding night had certainly disproved that theory, as had the nights that followed. Women he'd known before, of course -- women he had used to satisfy his physical needs, even as they had used him for some imagined advancement. Those relationships -- if one could even call them that -- had never lasted; he'd never intended them to. He could have dealt with a cold wife if necessary, as long as she provided him with heirs. Shelarne, however, was far from cold. Quit the opposite, in fact. Good thing he hadn't known quite how hot her blood ran, or he would have had an even more difficult time waiting for the wedding night.

For now it was enough to lose himself in her, to feel her body move against his, and to know that it would be his name that she cried out at the very end...

* * *

"Captain Solo! Haven't seen you around here in a while!"

Han looked up from his freshly poured mug of Corellian ale and managed a weary smile. So much for catching a few quiet minutes alone with his drink...

"Been kinda busy, Khani," he replied, watching as the Twi'lek settled in on the bar stool next to him.

"Ah," said Khani Zhen, with a sage wink and a knowing glance toward Han's barely touched mug of ale. He gestured toward the 'tender droid. "Yurp, please."

Han watched as the bar droid poured a glass of thick yellowish-green liquid and barely avoided making a face. Once he'd lost a bet and had to take a swallow of the stuff. Maybe it was better than drinking pure reactor fluid -- but not by much. Still, to each his own. Probably his own mug of ale would taste just as bad to the Twi'lek.

Khani took a long pull at his glass, reddish eyes closing briefly as he appeared to savor the viscous swill inside. "Ah...that does the trick." Then he glanced over at Han, who had taken a drink of his own ale, mainly in an attempt to wipe out the memory of the yurp's taste. "So what brings you back to the Depot, Han? Slumming?"

Den's Depot was a middle-sized cantina on the edge of CoCo Town. Nothing about it distinguished the place from any other cantina on the middle levels of Coruscant, except that its situation made it easy to get to from the senatorial district where his and Leia's apartments were located, and it wasn't far from the nearest spaceport as well. Lately he'd found it somehow comforting to slide into the Depot, order a drink, and watch the world go by. Leia spent most of her waking hours in endless meetings, and Threepio took his nanny duties so seriously that Han found it difficult to pry the children away from him long enough so that he could actually spend any time being a father.

When he was a boy back on Corellia, Han's parents had taken him to the zoo -- a zoo with real animals, not the holographic substitutions they had here on Coruscant. One of the animals that had fascinated him had been the sleek sand panther, and the zoo had an entire family on display, complete with cubs as adorable as they were deadly. But what had struck him the most was the bored expression on the male sand panther's face. Locked up in that transparisteel-framed pen, all it had to do was lie around and eat. Its main purpose -- to hunt and protect its family unit -- had been taken away.

These days, Han thought he knew just how that sand panther must have felt.

Oh, Leia tried, she really did -- thought up things for him and the kids to do, consulted him whenever the current Senatorial round was driving her nuts and she needed to hear "the voice of reason," as she put it. But none of that could hide the fact that he wasn't much more than a glorified house husband. Consort of the Chief of State. If someone had asked him ten years ago where he thought he'd end up, he would have put "gigolo" pretty far down on the list.

So his comment to Khani Zhen that he'd been "pretty busy" was basically an outright lie, and Zhen probably knew that and much more. Back in the days of the Empire, the Twi'lek had been a spice smuggler, same as Han, but after the fall of Palpatine Khani had set up shop on Coruscant as a sort of informal information broker. Somehow he'd managed to survive Isard's regime and all the various cataclysms that had rocked the former Imperial Center over the past decade. You never really saw him _do_ anything, but he managed to keep his finger on the pulse of the myriad undercurrents that coursed through the various streams of Coruscanti society, from which senator's wife was carrying on a torrid affair to which underworld swoop gangs had just formed an alliance -- and why.

Han hadn't seen Zhen in The Depot before this, which meant absolutely nothing. The Twi'lek tended to keep circulating, and if word had gotten to him that the Chief of State's husband had started to make regular appearances in the cantina, well, then, it didn't take a super-computer to calculate the odds on the info seller showing up in that same locale in the near future.

"Slumming?" Han repeated. "Nah...just having a quiet drink."

Zhen took a meditative pull at his bile-colored beverage. "Taking time out from your busy schedule?"

"Something like that."

"Ah." The Twi'lek was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I'm hearing things."

"Better get your ears checked," Han remarked amiably, before helping himself to a healthy swallow of ale.

Zhen appeared to take no offense. He stared off into the darker corners of the cantina, where the patrons nursed drinks or spoke in low tones to one another. Since it was midday, the cantina wasn't as crowded as it would be in a few hours, but at least half the tables were occupied. Because of The Depot's proximity to the spaceport, one saw a greater proportion of aliens there than in many other sectors of the planet. Han had spotted a couple of Duros, a pair of Gotals, and a Devaronian before he taken his own place at the bar. The one thing all the denizens of the cantina seemed to have in common was a complete lack of interest in the plainly dressed human male and his blue-robed Twi'lek companion.

"Things of possible concern," Zhen said at length. "Imperial matters, as it so happens."

"That a fact?" Han scooped up a handful of liki nuts from the bowl that sat in front of them and popped them in his mouth. The smoky flavor made a great accompaniment to the rich, earthy taste of his ale. Of course he knew that the Empire's growing strength had been a matter of great concern to Leia, but he wasn't about to tell Zhen that.

"They're taking bets, you know," the Twi'lek went on. "Down at Fortunaria's. Right now Danoshar's the odds-on favorite as to which planet's going to go Imperial next. Three to one, I believe."

"Are you trying to get me to place a bet, Zhen?" Han inquired. "I didn't think you'd become a bookie. Or are you just trying to get some inside information before you make your own wager?"

Zhen smiled thinly, showing several rows of pointed teeth. "Hardly. I know enough to stay out of that sort of thing. The house always wins in the end, after all... No, let's just say that I'm curious as to what the Chief of State thinks of the current situation."

_I'll bet_, Han thought, but he merely scooped up a handful of nuts and munched away without replying. "The Chief of State," he said once he was done chewing, all the while thinking it still felt odd to refer to Leia that way, "makes her opinions known in her daily remarks on 'Net channel 765. Maybe you should try tuning in once in a while."

"Han, you wound me," remarked Zhen, who then gathered up some of the liki nuts, gave them a quizzical look, then shrugged and ate them anyway. "And after I saved your ass at Abregado-rae -- "

"Hey," Han cut in. "I was handling myself just fine -- "

"Against ten of Hirth's goons? Bad odds even for you, my friend."

_Never tell me the odds_, Han thought, but he didn't bother to argue. That had been a tight one, no doubt about it, and without Zhen's intervention he very well could have ended up in a dumpster behind the LoBue Cantina. Still, although he had to admit that he owed Zhen one, he wasn't about to start spilling state secrets. Not that he even had any to spill.

Leia was more worried about the current situation with the Empire than even she wanted to admit, and Han could see why. The defection of ten worlds in less than six standard months was unprecedented, and things didn't seem to be getting much better. True, it had all happened peaceably enough -- the New Republic couldn't force worlds to remain members, after all, or it would be just as bad as the Empire. But if they were laying bets in the casinos to see which world went next, well, even Han had to admit that wasn't a good sign.

He'd been almost as startled as Leia to discover that Shelarne Viraess planned to marry this new Emperor, the man who had once been her superior. After all, Han had been there on Kessel and had seen the woman cradling the body of a man she had loved, and then, less than two standard weeks later, Leia had told him that Viraess was to become the Empire's first Empress. He'd had a hard time wrapping his brain around that concept but had finally just chalked it up to yet another example of women's inexplicable natures. Just when you thought you had them figured out, bam! they would pull some kind of maneuver that just left you scratching your head.

Whether or not Viraess' connection to the Emperor, this Kezler character, had anything to do with the Empire's surging fortunes, he couldn't be certain. And when you looked at it logically, sure, ten systems weren't that big a deal when you compared them to the countless thousands that still numbered themselves among the New Republic. But as Leia had once said when referring to the growth of the Rebellion, the greatest of floods could start with just a trickle.

"Danoshar, huh?" he said at last. "Go figure. Well, it's a free galaxy."

Zhen gave him a narrow glance, rolling one of the liki nuts over and over between two of his long, spindly fingers. "But for how long, my friend?" he asked. He placed the nut down on the bar next to his empty glass, then stood. "For how long?" With a shake of his head, he turned and strode out, his lean form briefly silhouetted against the glaring brightness of the day outside as he passed through the doorway and disappeared.

There were a few mouthfuls of ale left in the mug, but Han found he'd just lost his taste for it. With a sigh, he pushed the drink away and signaled the 'tender droid, pushing a few credits across the bar top. "I'm done here," he said, and made his own way to the front door. Zhen of course was nowhere in sight -- the guy knew how to disappear when he wanted to.

The Twi'lek's words seemed to ring unpleasantly in Han's ears, even as he pulled his jacket closer around him against the chilly rising wind. Of course, things weren't really that bad...were they?

Somehow Han didn't think he really wanted to know the answer.

* * *

Senator Lem Sedaris took the call in his private apartments, on a line he'd had secured by the best specialists his substantial wealth could buy. He'd been expecting it, but all the same he could barely contain a flash of irritation as his father's features resolved themselves in the holographic display. Fifty-three standard years old, and yet the elder Sedaris still acted as if his son couldn't manage to cross the street by himself.

"Disturbing news," said Fenrus Sedaris, watery brown eyes narrowing. Then he scowled further. "You're certain this a secure channel?"

"Absolutely," replied the senator. "Zeta-three encryption, sent in a subspace packet routed through an independent relay. No one's getting in."

Of course Fenrus would never display any sort of outward approval of his son's methods, but the older man seemed to relax slightly, the downward droop of his thin mouth easing just a fraction. "All right, then. Operatives in Imperial space have just informed me that the Empress herself is traveling to Danoshar to handle the negotiations."

"Disturbing news" seemed an understatement. The Emperor must be terribly eager to make sure this jewel didn't slip out of his grasp. Otherwise, Lem felt sure this Palaptine II would never risk so valuable a personage as his own wife to undertake a journey to a Mid-Rim world far from the Empire's secure center. On the other hand, the Empress' vulnerability would present some interesting possibilities.

"We can't have the Empire putting the squeeze on our duranium supplies," said the elder Sedaris. "Our margins are slipping as it is -- not as much demand, more competition. If our materials costs go up much more, then we'll have a situation on our hands."

In Fenrus Sedaris' world, a "situation" invariably involved something that needed to be resolved immediately...and bad luck for anyone who happened to be in the way. Not that Lem necessarily disagreed with his father's methods. For all his lack of interpersonal skills, Fenrus had a knack for capitalizing on current events and increasing the prestige and wealth of the Fondor shipyards so that now they had almost surpassed the glory days of the Empire, when orders for ships and weapons had flowed in at an astounding rate. But their ever-expanding wealth could come to a grinding halt if the necessary supplies suddenly doubled in price -- or became completely unavailable.

"So what do you want me to do?" Lem asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Get rid of her," his father replied immediately. "Her death will provide two benefits -- first, the Emperor will blame the Danosharans for any lapse in security that led to her demise; and second, he'll be sure to think the New Republic had something to do with it, so that will increase hostilities between the two governments. Our orders are bound to increase."

The old man's eyes twinkled with baleful glee. Nothing seemed to make Fenrus Sedaris happier than the thought of increasing profits -- especially if they could be gained through someone else's pain.

Lem thought he had never hated his father so much as he did at that moment. Not from any altruistic desire to save the Empress from an undeserved death, of course. Millions of beings died every day, so what difference would one more make? No, he simply had had enough of Fenrus Sedaris' endless manipulations, which of course included his own family. Even Lem's own election to the Senate had come about because of his father's maneuverings. "About time we had one of our own inside," he'd said, and Lem, as the eldest, had been the most likely candidate. Add to that the fact that he'd just gone through a messy divorce -- his ex-wife had had one too many run-ins with Fenrus and decided Lem wasn't worth the effort, thus making him free to move to Coruscant to advance the cause of the Fondor shipyards.

This whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth, but he'd do what had to be done. The old man had to die some day, after all, and then Lem would control everything his father had built up. It was worth a little pain now to reap the benefits later.

"We'll have to hit her in the Danoshar system," he said, thinking quickly. "We don't have anything that can go up against an Imperial capital ship, which I assume is what she'll be traveling on. But she'll have to take some sort of shuttle to the planet's surface, so that's the best time to attack."

"You'll coordinate?" asked Fenrus, his tone clearly indicating that he wasn't sure Lem was up to the task.

"I have some connections that will do nicely," Lem replied. Besides his public appearances at Senate meetings and the official round of his duties, he'd spent the bulk of his time on Coruscant cultivating the sorts of relationships that would prove valuable in situations such as these. Of course he'd never met any of these less than savory characters directly, but he knew people who knew people. It was the only way to get anything done and still escape detection. And his family's wealth worked wonders in lubricating these sorts of negotiations.

"She'll be at Danoshar two standard days from now. Get it done."

_Nothing like working under pressure_, thought Lem. It would be tight, but with the added incentive of a bonus to accommodate the narrow timeframe, it could be managed. "Consider it handled," he said aloud, wishing it were possible to reach through the holographic projector and throttle the person on the other side.

"Hmph," was all his father said, but Lem knew from bitter experience he wouldn't receive any more words of approval than that. "Get back to me when it's all over."

_Anything for you, daddy dearest_, Lem thought. "The Empress won't know what hit her."

"I hope for all our sakes that your right," responded Fenrus immediately. "Because if anyone finds out who was behind her death, it's going right on your head and ending there. Fondor won't get dragged into this." With those ominous words the transmission ended abruptly, and Lem was left staring into the blank space that had held his father's image only seconds before.

Risking someone else's neck for his own profit was signature Fenrus Sedaris, and Lem hadn't expected anything else. He had two younger brothers who could step into his place if necessary, and no doubt Fenrus considered Lem expendable. _When this is over, old man_, he thought, _I'm going to kill you myself. And then I'll finally get to relax and enjoy the wealth you've held over my head my entire life._

Scowling, he turned from the holo-console and began planning the death of the Empress.


End file.
